The Stray
by shsculptor
Summary: Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't get it to come out right. Or can you?


The Stray

Prologue

He stood, motionless, his back pressed up against the trunk of an old oak tree, his knife clutched in his hand. His eyes were alert and constantly shifting, his ears wringing every bit of information they could out of the night. Two horses were pegged out on a picket line on the other side of the small clearing and two men were tucked up in their bedrolls on either side of the dying campfire. One of them had moved a little while ago, shifting position on the hard ground. He eased his grip on the knife and stilled. He wanted them both asleep before he made his move. And so he waited.

A cloud went scudding across the moon, casting a brief shadow over the clearing. The night wind sighed through the trees and faded. Still he waited. There was a coffeepot resting at the edge of the fire and a couple of bulging saddle bags. He licked his lips and hoped that there was still coffee in that pot.

Again the wind sighed, paused and then pushed harder, stirring the grass and rustling through the leaves, rattling the smaller branches together. More clouds gathered to obscure the moonlight. He looked up and then moved away from the tree. It was time.

"Evenin', friend." The soft words were accompanied by the icy pressure of a gun barrel pressing into the skin just behind his ear. His left wrist was seized and twisted behind his back. "You know," the voice came again, "if I was to hear that big old knife hit the ground, you just might keep breathing for a while longer."

He didn't know which was more intimidating, that silky voice or the metallic click as the gun pressed up against his head was cocked. The knife thudded to the ground.

"OK." The soft voice was raised just a little. "We got him." He was shoved forward towards the clearing.

The blanket was thrown back from one of the bedrolls and a tall gringo rose to his feet, holstering the gun that he had been holding ready.

"Well," the gringo said, "I didn't believe it when you told me but now I suppose I have no choice. That horse of yours is better than a watchdog."

There was a soft chuckle from behind him. "That's what happens when you ride one of the wild ones. They remember what it's like to take care of themselves and they notice everything. All you have to do is pay attention."

"It took you long enough to bring your friend there in. I've had a rock digging a hole in my hip for the last forty-five minutes."

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's dark out here. Took me a while to find him. Once the wind came up it was easier to move without being heard. Step on up to the fire, friend. I want to see what we've got."

The dark haired gunman shoved him down onto a log by the fire pit. "Watch him for a minute, will you, Scott? This is all I took off him. But keep an eye on him, `cause I haven't had a chance to check him over. If he moves, shoot him."

He watched as his knife was handed off to the one called Scott.

He took his eyes off the gringo, who had drawn his gun again. His captor walked around the fire and knelt on the other side. The gunman moved the coffeepot and began to stoke up the fire. There was something familiar about that dark wavy hair, and the eyes, so startling blue that they glinted in the growing firelight. His captor threw one last good-sized branch on the fire and glanced up at the gringo.

"Well, it doesn't look like we're gonna get much sleep tonight but at least we'll be warm."

The man's smile, when he spoke, lit up his face and caused the lurker's breath to catch in his throat and his eyes to widen.

"Somehow, Johnny," the gringo said, "I don't find that very comforting."

The prisoner's pulse beat faster and he struggled to keep his smile from showing.

Johnny chuckled and picked up the coffeepot. He swished it around to check if there was anything left and then poured some into a tin cup and handed it off to the gringo.

"Here, maybe this'll improve your mood."

"Hey, Coyote, usted piensa que podría comer algo de ese café?" ("Hey, Coyote, you think I could have some of that coffee?")

Johnny froze and pinned an icy gaze on the man sitting across the fire. "¿Qué usted dijo?" (What did you say?)

"Usted me oyó, Madrid." (You heard me, Madrid)

At the word Madrid, the gringo tensed and took a step nearer. "What'd he say, Johnny?"

Johnny waved him off. "¿Quién son usted?" (Who are you?)

"¿Usted tiene que pedir?" (You have to ask?)

Johnny cocked his head and studied him and then slowly stood. "Naldo?" he asked, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

He grinned.

Johnny shook his head. He raised his hand as if to touch his head and then dropped it again. "Naldo," he said. "Well I'll be damned!"

Naldo's grin got wider. "I always thought so, amigo."

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"Hey, Coyote, usted piensa que podría comer algo de ese café?" ("Hey, Coyote, you think I could have some of that coffee?")

"¿Qué usted dijo?" (What did you say?)

"Usted me oyó, Madrid." (You heard me, Madrid)

"¿Quién son usted?" (Who are you?)

"¿Usted tiene que pedir?" (You have to ask?)

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Chapter 1

With a whoop Johnny rounded the fire and the two men met in a rough embrace amid a flurry of backslapping and overlapping questions.

Scott just stood to one side. "Johnny, what's going on here?"

Johnny disentangled himself and turned toward Scott, a huge smile on his face. "Scott, I want you to meet Renaldo Ramos, an old friend of mine. Naldo, this here's Scott Lancer, my brother."

Naldo went still. He turned to study Johnny's face. "Lancer?" he asked.

Johnny snorted and dropped his head for a moment. "Yeah, it's a long story and you're not gonna believe it even when I tell you. But take my word for it, this old boy here," he nodded at Scott, "is a big part of the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Naldo continued to study his friend's face, and then he nodded once in acceptance and turned toward Scott. "Good to meet you," he said, and stuck out his hand.

Scott stood, his coffee cup in his left hand and his pistol still in his right. He looked toward Johnny, his mind full of questions that showed on his face. Johnny raised an eyebrow in response. Scott hesitated before he holstered the gun and returned the handshake. "Same here," he said.

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"I heard you were dead. The story down on the border is that the rurales stood you up against a wall and shot you." Naldo glanced up.

The three men sat around the crackling campfire sharing coffee and the contents of a flask that Johnny had produced from his saddlebags.

Johnny snorted. "Yeah, I get that a lot." He spread his arms wide and shrugged. "But I'm still here."

Naldo smiled. "I shouldn't 'a worried, shoulda known the rurales couldn't catch Coyote."

"Oh they caught me all right. They just had some trouble keeping hold of me."

"You called him Coyote," Scott said. "Why?"

Naldo took another sip of coffee and then wrapped both hands around the warm cup. "It's just a name I had for him when we were kids." He glanced over at Johnny, who frowned and shook his head. Naldo grinned and looked back over at Scott. "I called him that, because he was fast and smart and the best sneak thief around."

Johnny winced and groaned. "Scott, you know you can't believe…"

"Oh no, brother, don't interrupt the man. I want to hear all about this." Scott smiled and leaned forward. "You were saying, Renaldo?"

"There wasn't a pie cooling on a windowsill or a loaf of bread baking in an outdoor oven that was safe. Once he slipped a whole pan of tamales right off a fat old senora's kitchen table." He looked up at Johnny. "We ate good that night didn't we, amigo?"

A soft grunt as he lowered his face into his hand was Johnny's only response.

Naldo poked at the fire with a long stick. "Weren't too many jobs for a couple of raggedy-assed half-breed kids. Johnny kept us fed. Kept us alive."

An uneasy silence fell over the camp.

"So," said Scott, "how did the two of you meet?"

Johnny shrugged. "Not much to it. Two kids on their own on the border, we just sort of drifted together and watched each other's backs."

Naldo looked up. "That's not the way I remember it."

"Renaldo," Johnny growled.

"What? It's not something to be ashamed of."

He turned back to Scott. "I was a scrawny little breed with no place to go. I hadn't been on my own for long and I was sick, starving and scared to death. One morning three townies cornered me behind the local livery. They thought they were going to have some fun. Me, I was too weak to run and too little to fight back and they were well on their way to pounding me into the dirt when this little blue eyed devil comes charging out of the barn wavin' a pitchfork that's taller than he is and yelling like a Comanche. He didn't have to poke 'em too many times before they broke and ran like a herd of rabbits. He was outnumbered and they were all older. Any one of 'em outweighed him by fifteen or twenty pounds, but he didn't care. He wasn't scared of nothing." He laughed. " Hell, they thought he was nuts and that scared 'em worse than anything."

Scott shook his head and took a sip of his drink. "I know that feeling," he muttered.

"Now me," Naldo continued, "it didn't matter to me, crazy, sane, or anything in between, I didn't care. He was the prettiest sight that I'd ever seen because I'll tell you what, those bastards were set on putting me in the ground. If Johnny hadn't showed up when he did, I woulda' been dead and gone to dust a long time ago."

They were quiet for a minute. Naldo stirred the fire again and then threw the stick onto it and blew out a deep breath. "So you see, we met when Johnny Madrid saved my life."

"I go by Lancer now. It's Lancer, not Madrid," Johnny said.

Naldo sat up straight. "Now that's a story that I want to hear. So you found your papa?"

Johnny smiled and scratched behind one ear. "No," he said, "it's more like he found me."

Naldo raised an eyebrow.

"He set the Pinkertons on me. Those rurales you heard about were getting set to fill me full of holes. Hell, they'd just yanked me to my feet to take my turn in front of the guns when this gringo comes flying over the hill and says my daddy wants to talk to me and would I come. I took one look at the alternative and said, no time like the present. So here I am." Johnny grinned at Renaldo and raised his cup in salute.

Scott sat on the far side of the fire and swallowed heavily.

"And your old man's still alive?" Naldo asked. The look of surprise on his face was a shock to Scott.

Johnny snorted. "Yeah, Naldo, he's just fine."

"How did that happen?"

"Dios, Naldo." Johnny glanced over at Scott who was looking interested. "If you have to know, the old man can probably thank that one over there." He gestured to Scott who practically choked on his coffee. "Finding out I had a fancy gringo brother sort of put me off my stride and by the time I got myself back together, well, killing the old man didn't seem like such a good idea anymore."

"Why not?"

"Damn it, boy, don't you ever let go?" Johnny set his cup down hard enough to splash coffee onto the fire. It hissed and sparked to match the expression on Johnny's face.

"Never did before," said Naldo, calmly meeting Johnny's glare.

Finally Johnny sighed and looked down at his hands. "She lied, Naldo. None of it was like she said it was. I could have gone home, could have gone back to Lancer any time but Mama fixed it so I wouldn't. She lied and I'll never understand it."

A heavy silence fell over the camp, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the wind weaving through the treetops.

Scott drank down the last of his coffee and stood up to stretch. "I don't know about the two of you, but I'd like to get some sleep before the sun comes up. Let's call it a night."

Johnny stood up too. "Sounds good to me, brother. Naldo, you have any gear stashed out there?"

Naldo grinned and shrugged. "I've got a broken down old plug tied to a tree about a quarter mile back, a second hand saddle, and," he glanced at Scott with a twinkle in his eye, "I had a knife but that's about it."

Johnny chuckled. "Give him back his knife, Scott"

Scott stopped straightening his bedroll. His eyes met his brother's and they locked gazes for a long beat until Johnny raised his hand in a 'come on' gesture.

Scott straightened and pulled the knife out of his belt and walked reluctantly over to Naldo. He weighed the knife in his hand before he handed it back. "Here you are."

Naldo took it with a nod, and a knowing little smile.

"I'll walk back with you to get your horse," Johnny said, claiming the man's attention, "you can use Barranca's blanket if you don't have a bedroll. It smells like horse but it's warmer than laying right on the cold ground. I've got an extra blanket too. Tomorrow we'll go back to Lancer."

The fire burned down and the wind continued to sing through the branches, but it was a long while before Scott managed to relax enough to get to sleep.

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Chapter 2

Dawn came too early the next morning and brought with it a damp and cloudy sky. By the time they'd finished a quick breakfast the sun had begun to burn through the cloud cover and the day was looking better.

As Scott threw his saddle up on Charlie he cast an uncertain look at Naldo's mount. When the man had said his horse was a plug, he wasn't kidding. It was an unattractive animal, muddy brown from front to back with no markings to break the monotony. It was ewe necked and sickle hocked with a straggly mane and tail. But it had a kind eye and it turned eagerly toward its master when he walked up to it. Scott noticed that Naldo slipped a half a biscuit to the scrubby nag.

His tack wasn't much more impressive than the horse. The leather was scratched and worn and one of the bridle straps had been replaced by a rawhide pigging string. But it was clean and Scott noted that Naldo was careful to see that it sat easy on the horse's bony back.

Scott's attention was distracted by a loud exclamation from Johnny.

"Damn it, horse, you try to bite me one more time and you're going to be missing some of those big teeth of yours."

Barranca had his head up in the air, his ears flicking back and forth as he watched Johnny out of the corner of his eye. Scott had to swallow a laugh. Johnny was fuming but his horse was the picture of equine glee.

Naldo stepped up onto his own quiet mount and sat watching Johnny's struggles.

"That's a real flashy ride you got there, Coyote." He watched as Barranca stepped neatly away as Johnny raised his foot to the stirrup. "Don't do you much good though if you can't get on him."

"You never did know much about horses did you? This is the finest horse I've ever ridden." Johnny grunted. This time Barranca stepped toward him as he went to mount and crowded him off balance.

"Uh-huh," said Naldo, "and when was that? That you rode him, I mean." Naldo winced as Barranca's teeth snapped together just a whisper short of Johnny's leg as he pulled himself into the saddle.

"Shows what you know you little weasel, all the best ones have a lot of spirit." Johnny settled himself in the saddle, just as Barranca ducked his head and went crow hopping across the dew-heavy grass.

Naldo shook his head. "Damn, Scott, you and I should wish we had such a good horse." He reached down and stroked the neck of his scrubby mount as it stood watching the show and waiting for instructions.

Scott looked across and his eyes met Naldo's innocent gaze. Both men broke into wild laughter.

Having pulled Barranca back together, Johnny rode him back to the other two. He glared at them as they tried to subdue their chuckles. "I'm going to gallop him out a little. He's feeling way too good this morning. You two can just trot along and catch up to me down the trail. Provided you don't fall off your horses laughing." With that he pulled down his hat and turned Barranca loose.

They watched him take off at a ground-eating gallop. Then their eyes met again and they burst out in another round of laughter. Finally Scott wiped his eyes and pulled himself together. "We'd better get moving or we'll run into him somewhere up ahead, stretched out under a tree, wanting to know what we've been up to while he was taking a nice little nap.

They pushed their horses out into a comfortable jog. The sun had lifted up over the horizon and sparkled off the dew that still dotted each leaf and blade of grass. The clouds that had walled off the sky earlier had all but disappeared and the birds were singing. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Scott took a deep, contented breath. He glanced over at his traveling companion and decided to seize the opportunity. "So, he said, "I noticed that you seemed surprised last night when Johnny said my father is still alive?"

Naldo snorted. "Yeah, you bet I was. I still am. Back when I knew Johnny, his biggest ambition was to track Lancer down and put a bullet through his head. Time was, I swore to myself I'd help him get it done. He blamed the old man for what happened to his mama. When he was a kid he used to wake up at night cryin' and yelling, dreaming about her." Naldo was silent for a minute and then he grinned to himself. "Every time he could buy or steal some ammunition, he'd grab that big old gun of his and we'd head out to the desert. He'd spend the day blowing the hell out of the landscape." The grin faded. "He told me once that it was his daddy's face he was seeing every time he hit one of those tin cans of his." He gave Scott a searching look. "You must have made one hell of an impression on Coyote."

Scott shook his head. "I don't know, at the time I didn't think I made much of an impression at all. But I'll tell you one thing," Scott's voice hardened, "Johnny and Murdoch get along just fine now. He doesn't need any help dealing with his father."

Naldo raised his hands, palms out. "Hey, I was just talking. Besides, from what I hear, Johnny Madrid doesn't need help with much of anything. He can handle his own problems."

Scott scowled but decided he had another question. "What did happen to Johnny's mother?"

Naldo looked over, surprised. "He didn't tell you?"

"No, he doesn't talk much about his past."

"Well if he hasn't told you, then I guess it's not my place to say."

They separated to ride around either side of an old tree stump surrounded by saplings and overgrown with weeds.

"So I take it that you're not a gunfighter," Scott said when they came back together.

Naldo looked over in surprise. "Me?" he snorted. "Not even close. That's Johnny's job, not mine. Oh, I can hit what I'm aiming at most times but I'm about as fast as molasses in January. No, if I've got some business to take care of, I usually get by with this." He slid out the big knife that he'd had last night. He glanced over at Scott but the smile on his face never quite reached his eyes.

Scott felt a sudden shiver despite the strengthening sun.

The knife disappeared and they rode in silence for a few minutes.

"What brought you to this neck of the woods?" Scott tried again.

Naldo glanced across, and then shrugged. "Just looking for work."

"Are you a cowhand?"

"Sometimes. I'm pretty much just a drifter, floatin' along from place to place, doin' whatever comes along. And look what we have here." Naldo rose up in the stirrups to peer ahead. "Either your brother has come adrift from that pony of his or he's sittin' around waiting for us, just like you said."

"He's waiting," Scott said with confidence. "Barranca was just playing with him this morning. Those two are so in tune with one another that sometimes I think that they're just one big animal, six legs, two heads and one will."

Naldo chuckled. "Two heads between them? Or maybe just half a brain? Hey, Coyote!" he shouted and pushed his horse into a canter.

They rode north for the rest of the morning, stopping only to rest the horses and eat a quick lunch at noon. Afterwards they mounted up and continued on. The land became hillier, covered with lush graze and dotted with stands of mature timber. They crossed a couple of good-sized streams rushing downhill. They kept climbing.

They stopped at the top of one steep grade to let the horses blow. Naldo took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "So, Johnny, when we gonna get to this ranch of yours? The way you've been talking, I'm expecting to ride up to the pearly gates any time now."

Johnny looked over at Scott and smiled. "We haven't quite gotten to the gate yet, but go ahead and look around, amigo, we've been on Lancer land for the last two hours."

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They pulled up at the top of the highest ridge and sat looking down at a valley spread out below them. Johnny leaned against the saddle horn and took a deep breath. A proud light played in his eyes and a smile graced his lips. "There you go, Naldo. Take a look. As far as you can see, that's Lancer. And down there," he pointed to a huge white structure that seemed to shine in the afternoon sunlight, "that's the hacienda. That's home."

Naldo glanced up and frowned at the last word. He turned back and stared at the vista below him. "Madre de Dios! That's all yours, Coyote?"

Johnny grinned and looked at Scott. "Well, a third of it, anyway. Come on, I'm tired of this saddle. Let's get on down there, get a drink, something to eat, and find someplace softer to sit." He pushed Barranca into a rocking canter and headed down the hill.

"You heard the man," Scott said, and the two of them followed.

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Chapter 3

"Wait here." Johnny said. "I'm going to see if I can find Murdoch. Oh," he said, "help yourself to a drink if you like. It's over there." He waved toward the sideboard.

They'd taken care of the horses first and then Johnny had dragged him over to this huge hacienda. Naldo had seen a few places like this but he'd never been inside one and he wasn't sure he wanted to be there now. Johnny had brought him here and walked out; abandoning him in the middle of the grandest room he'd ever seen.

He stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, craning his neck, trying to take it all in without actually moving. Everywhere he looked there was another wonder. One whole wall was covered with books. There were more books in this one room than Naldo had seen in his entire life. Hell, there were more books on one shelf than Naldo had ever seen. He wondered if Johnny had read any of them.

There was a table big enough to seat an entire village on a feast day. The surface shone like glass. The chairs were carved, with seats covered in beautiful fabric. Silver candlesticks and a bowl filled with fresh flowers sat in the center of it. Madre de Dios, how many people did they feed here every day?

Over against another wall was a model ship. And what a wonder that was. Naldo stretched to one side trying to get a better look. He had seen sailing ships down on the Gulf of Mexico and this one was a perfect small copy, right down to the ropes and railings.

He looked back over his shoulder and drew in a breath. Behind him was a ventana enorme; it drew him out of his chosen place and he walked toward it. He didn't know that such a huge window was even possible. Ay-yi-yi, the patron must sit at this desk and oversee his empire!

He realized that he had moved and he smiled at his foolishness. Of course he could move around. He turned in a circle looking at everything. He reached out and touched the back of a padded chair and then snatched his hand back so he wouldn't smudge the fabric.

He walked over to the fireplace and looked at the brand that decorated it. The fireplace itself was huge. He could imagine a roaring fire on a chilly night. How grand it would be to sit in one of these padded chairs and bask in the warmth of that fire. He thought of trying out one of the chairs but decided that would be going too far. Still, he was feeling more comfortable. Johnny had said something about a drink. He looked where Johnny had indicated and saw a whole collection of bottles. A drink would be a fine thing.

He walked over and was lost for a moment just staring at the different bottles. Most cantinas he'd been in didn't have this many bottles behind the bar. He was pretty sure that this was also better stuff than he was used to. He decided on a bottle of tequila and poured a small measure into a heavy glass. He smiled as the liquor reflected gold and silver sparks through the cut glass.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Naldo spun around.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" A huge man was striding toward him across the room.

Naldo backed up a few steps and his eyes widened. Madre de Dios, the man was a giant, and loud too.

"I asked you a question, young man."

Naldo tried to back up again and found himself trapped up against the sideboard. He started to lift his hand and noticed the drink he still held. He put it down as if it burned him. He looked back up to find the giant looming over him, leaving him no place to run and roaring questions at him. The old panic swelled in his gut and his hand drifted toward his knife.

"You so much as touch that knife, boy and I'll break you in half," the big gringo growled.

Naldo pushed up harder against the sideboard and tried to find his voice.

"Murdoch." Another voice rang across the room. "For god's sake, back off. Give the man room to breathe."

Murdoch spun around. "Johnny, I didn't know you were home."

Naldo breathed a sigh of relief and took the opportunity to move out into the open where he had more space to maneuver.

Johnny walked across the room and stopped between Naldo and the bear that talked like a man.

"We just got back. I was out looking for you. I wanted to introduce you to Renaldo Ramos. Naldo, this is Murdoch Lancer, my father. Naldo is an old friend of mine."

Naldo noticed the expression on Murdoch's face start to turn thunderous. Johnny rolled his eyes and sighed. "An real old friend, Murdoch. We were kids together – long before Madrid."

The big man had the grace to look embarrassed. He also looked relieved. He nodded toward Naldo. "Ramos," he said. "Look, I'm sorry I…"

"No problema, senor. It was my fault."

Johnny snorted and shook his head. "No it wasn't, but that don't matter. I've hired him, Murdoch. We can always use a good hand."

"Johnny." Murdoch said, but Coyote turned a hard look on his father. Murdoch met it with one of his own and the two faced each other down. Naldo was surprised to see that it was the patron that yielded.

"All right," said Murdoch. "We'll give him a try."

Johnny gave one decisive nod. "Wait for me outside, Naldo and I'll take you over to the bunkhouse and introduce you to our segundo."

"Si." He turned to Murdoch, "Senor," he said and bowed his head a little.

"Ramos." Murdoch acknowledged.

Naldo turned and left. He was happy to be out the door.

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Johnny sighed. "Well, that was fun."

"Johnny, how did you expect me to. . .?"

"Never mind, Murdoch. Listen, Scott's around somewhere. I'll take Naldo over to the bunkhouse and then I'll round up Scott and we'll give you our report."

"Did it go well?" Murdoch asked.

Johnny smiled. "Yeah, you're going to be happy." He started toward the entryway but paused with his hand on the door.

"Murdoch?"

Murdoch had walked over to his desk and was inspecting the papers and knickknacks that littered its surface. "What?"

Johnny looked over at him. "You ever notice that when old friends of Scott's show up they get the fancy guest room and we trot out the fatted calf, but my friends, well, they're lucky to get a spare cot in the bunkhouse?"

Murdoch's head came up and he turned. "Johnny, that's not fair."

Johnny sighed. "Yeah," he said, "you got that right. But don't feel too bad about it, old man. I don't think Naldo would be very comfortable under your roof. " He opened the door and stopped. "Sometimes I know exactly how he feels." He slipped out the door.

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"So, what do you think of Murdoch?" Johnny and Naldo walked across the yard.

"He's about what I expected," Naldo said, his voice and face carefully neutral.

Johnny grinned. "You didn't meet him under the best of circumstances."

Naldo looked at his friend for a minute. "You really like him?"

Johnny stopped. "Yeah, I do." He glanced over at Naldo. "He's a little hard to take at times and it took us a while to stop tearing at each other, but once I got past what Mama said…" He hesitated and looked off toward the hills. " I can't explain it but there was something there, something I wasn't expecting. He's my old man, Naldo, he's family."

The two of them studied each other for a long moment before Naldo nodded. "Bueno. So, I'm happy for you, my friend. And look at you now," he said, a big smile blossoming on his face and his arms spread wide. "Coyote, all settled down and tame as a puppy dog."

"Now wait a minute," Johnny said, taking a swipe at his friend's stomach.

Naldo danced away and the two proceeded, laughing and talking toward the bunkhouse.

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Chapter 4

After supper, Scott waited until Johnny left the house to check on Barranca. He jogged across the yard after his brother. "Johnny, hold up a minute."

Johnny stopped by the corral fence and turned to wait.

Scott walked over, dropped his arms over the top rail and stared out over the hills. "So," he said after a few seconds, "do you think Murdoch was happy with the contract?"

Johnny glanced over, a puzzled expression on his face. "You were standing right there when he said he was. Do you know something that I don't?"

"No, no, I think he's happy. No reason for him not to be." Scott concentrated on a splinter in the fence rail.

"Scott?"

Scott sighed but didn't look up. "It must have been quite a surprise running into an old friend like that."

"Yeah, it was." Johnny turned a searching gaze on his brother.

"He comes across as a nice enough fellow."

Johnny frowned. "You got something to say, why don't you just say it?"

"OK." Scott turned to face his brother. "Are you sure that hiring him is a good idea? I mean, Naldo's easy to like, but Johnny, he was sneaking up on our camp with a knife in his hand."

Johnny dropped his head and scratched a pattern in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "He wouldn't hurt me," he said, "or mine."

"That may be, but I can't help thinking that he was prepared to hurt somebody."

Johnny sighed. He leaned on the fence and faced his brother. "You saw him. Damn it, Scott, he doesn't have anything. I want to give him a job, give him a chance and let him pull himself together. What's so bad about that?"

Scott just stared down at his hands.

"I left him, Scott. I owe him."

"Why? What do you think you owe him?" Scott shook his head. "You were what, twelve or thirteen years old? You shouldn't have been responsible for him. At that age, you shouldn't have had to be responsible for yourself."

Johnny shrugged and looked away. "Maybe that's one of the reasons I left."

Scott gave him a puzzled look.

"Maybe I was just tired of being responsible."

"What happened? Why did you leave him?"

Johnny ran a hand over his face. He turned and draped both arms over the fence rail. "It's a long story."

Scott waited.

"We were living in a little rat hole down in south Texas called San Jose." Johnny's voice was soft and low and Scott moved a step nearer. "Naldo and me, we never seemed to stay in one spot for long. Something always seemed to happen and we'd up and move along. But we had a pretty good thing going that time. We'd found a beat up old shack on the outskirts of town. The roof had fallen in on the front but the back room was still sound. With a little cleanin' up, we had a nice dry place to sleep. I had a regular job swamping out the saloon. Old man Martin at the livery let me or Naldo help out whenever he had a few extra horses to take care of, so we were eating pretty regular too. Hell, I was even halfway to payin' for a pretty little pinto mustang that I'd helped Martin break. We thought we had it made."

A sorrel mare ambled up and Johnny scratched under her jaw and then pushed her away. He sighed. " But it always seemed like something, or someone would come along to mess things up when they got going too good."

Scott winced at that. He suspected that Johnny still felt that way.

"There was this kid, called Ed," Johnny continued. "He was a couple years older than us. His old man was a big deal in town. The old bastard owned the local hotel, the feed and grain and a couple of other things. He was a self-righteous son of a bitch who didn't have any use for ne'er-do-wells. That's what he called anybody who didn't have enough money to impress him. And he really didn't care for half-breeds, Mexicans or anybody that didn't look or think like him. Old Eddy followed right in his daddy's footsteps.

"Naldo and me, well, we just made that old man's list all the way down the line, so we got to be Ed's favorite targets. Besides, there wasn't anybody to kick up a fuss if he beat the shit out of one of us. I figured that sooner or later there'd be trouble and I knew we should have left, but damn it, I didn't want to hit the road again. Eatin' hand to mouth and sleeping rough was bad enough when it was just me, but I had Naldo to look out for.

"Anyway, I told the kid to be extra careful and I started carrying my old Colt Navy with me. Didn't have a rig or anything." Johnny looked over and grinned. "I carried it around in an old burlap bag." He snorted and went back to studying the landscape. "Ed and me had gone around a couple of times. 'Course I didn't win 'cause old Ed didn't like working alone but I did my best to make it so uncomfortable that he'd go looking for easier prey.

"And, he did."

"I came out of the saloon late one night. Naldo was supposed to be back at the shack, nice and warm in bed, but he never liked to sleep there by himself. Sometimes he'd have nightmares and if he woke up alone he'd come out looking for me. He'd tuck himself in under the steps across from the back door of the saloon and wait for me to come out. I'd told him to stay home but he never listened."

Johnny tipped his hat back off his head and ran a hand through his hair. Scott was afraid for a minute that he'd just walk off but he laid his arm back over the fence and continued.

"Ed and his two buddies were out tom-cattin' around that night and they must have spotted Naldo when he snuck into the alley. When I walked out the back door they had him backed up against the fence at the end of the alley and they were getting set to have at him. He was a little kid. He didn't have a chance. He must have known it too. I yelled and started to run but before I could get there, Naldo pulled out this old knife he'd found and took a wild swing. He sliced Eddy's arm pretty good. By the time I closed the distance and yelled for 'em to back off, Eddy was seeing red. He'd wrapped his bandana around his arm and grabbed a three-foot length of board. He swore he was going to kill the kid and he'd be happy to do the same for me if I wanted. I did the only thing I could."

Johnny paused.

"I pulled out the Colt."

"And you shot him?"

Johnny looked down and grinned. "You gonna let me tell this?"

"Sorry."

"No, I didn't shoot him. I may have been a kid but I'd been around enough to know that if I shot Eddy, his daddy would track us down no matter what it took. No, I shot the board."

"What?"

"I put a slug into that board that Ed was waving around. Must have stung his hands some because he dropped it like it had caught on fire. The three of them froze; they just stood there staring at me. Then I pulled back the hammer again and they took off running.

He paused for a moment and stared out into the fading light.

"I grabbed Naldo," he finally continued, "and we ran back to the shack, threw our stuff into a bag and went and banged on Martin's door at the livery. I had a couple of extra bucks saved, not enough to pay off the pinto but I hoped I could talk him into taking what I had and letting me send him the rest. He wasn't having any of it though. That old man surprised the hell out of me. He said the damned pinto wouldn't put up with anybody else but me anyway so I may as well take him. He wrote me out a bill of sale right there. He said we were hard workers and he'd miss us and told us we should hit the road before Ed's old man got himself organized.

"Less than an hour after I walked out of the saloon, Naldo and I were headed out into the desert, the two of us riding bareback on that pinto pony."

Johnny fell silent, staring off across toward the horizon. Scott just waited. It wasn't often that Johnny shared anything from his past and Scott didn't want to break the spell.

"I'll never forget that night."

Scott almost missed the whisper soft words. He glanced over; Johnny's face had a faraway, almost empty look.

"I don't know if you can even understand how I felt. Standing there watching those cobardes run, it was like the world turned itself inside out and ended up as a different place. Almost made me dizzy. I felt like I grew a couple of feet in those few seconds or like maybe my skin split wide open and somebody brand new walked out. I stood there in that alley and I knew that I'd found a way out, a way to stop getting beaten up and shoved around and spit on. Here was a way and I wanted it, wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything else in my life."

He drew his gun and stared at it before turning narrowed eyes on his brother. "This was my ticket out." He held up the Colt. "No more running, no more hiding, no more feeling lower than the shit laying in the street."

Their eyes held for a long moment before Johnny sighed and holstered the gun. "That's powerful stuff for a kid to feel. But I knew I was going to go after it. And I knew one more thing. I knew I couldn't take Naldo with me."

Johnny was silent for a long moment and then he continued.

"We rode east. I was headed for a little rancho that we'd stopped at a few months before. An old couple owned the place and they'd been nice to us. They liked Naldo. Three days of hard riding, watching behind us all the way, got us there. We had a real nice welcome, a good meal and a seat by the fireplace and Naldo went to sleep in a soft bed with real sheets and a pillow. When he woke up, I was gone."

Johnny's head was bowed and his voice almost cracked with regret.

"I just left him, Scott."

"Good God, Johnny. You were just a kid yourself. You weren't his father; you weren't even related to him. And you didn't just leave him; you found him a place where he'd be safe and cared for. Cared for better than you'd ever been able to do."

"You don't understand. None of that mattered. The thing is, I was all he had, and I left him. He didn't care about where he slept or if he could go to school. All he knew was that the closest thing he had to family had walked out on him." Johnny turned away, staring off into the distance. "I went back a couple years later," he sighed. "Figured I'd see how he was doing. They told me he didn't stay. He ran off a few days after I left. Gone looking for me. I didn't see him again till last night."

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Chapter 5

Johnny pulled Barranca to a halt on the rise overlooking the main house. He pushed back his hat, drew in a deep breath and sat there watching the comings and goings that made up the life of Lancer. His first day back had been a long one. He and Scott had been away for ten days and he'd missed the place. Despite all the stupid cows, the long hours, downed fences, dammed up creeks, and murderous broncs, he had to admit that he'd missed it. Sitting up on the hill, just watching, he could feel a smile grow on his face and he didn't mind one bit. Nope, he couldn't think of any place on earth that he'd rather be, except maybe sitting at the dinner table in that big ol' house down below. Maria had promised him tamales and he'd been dreaming about them all day. Woolgathering up here wasn't getting him any closer to them.

He adjusted his hat and picked up the reins. Barranca trotted out before he could even ask. Johnny slapped the horse's neck and laughed. "You're looking forward to your dinner too, huh, amigo?"

He pulled up by the barn and dismounted just in front of the water trough. While Barranca drank, he loosened the cinch and then led the palomino into the shadowy depths of the barn.

The side door opened just as he finished settling the horse for the night and footsteps whispered down the aisle.

"Hey, Cipriano."

The segundo's head jerked up from the broken bit that he held in his hands.

"Hola, Senor. I did not know you were still here."

"I'm just about done. As soon as I finish up I'm heading in for dinner. Maria's makin' tamales."

"Ah! I understand." Cip grinned in response to the smile on Johnny's face.

Johnny crossed his arms on the stall door. "So, how'd everything go today?"

Cipriano frowned. "Once again I had trouble with Jigger Smith."

Johnny shook his head. "Again?"

"He is lazy, that one, lazy and disimulado."

"Sneaky, huh?"

"Si." Cipriano's expression reflected his distaste. "Lazy and sneaky."

Johnny left the stall and latched the door behind him. "We've put up with that jackass for too long, I've about had it with him." He reached over and put his brushes away. "The next time either one of us catches him pulling something, he's out of here. OK?"

"Bueno. But Senor, be careful of him. He holds a grudge and has no love for you."

"The feeling's mutual, but gracias, I'll keep an eye out for him. So, how did Naldo get on today?"

Cipriano hesitated, fingering the broken bit. Finally he looked up. "He is a good worker, Senor."

Johnny studied the man before he sighed and leaned back against the stall. "There's a but though, isn't there?"

Cipriano shrugged. "There were words with one of the men."

"What happened?"

"It was Brody Stewart."

Johnny groaned.

"Si. You know how he is. He meant no harm but he does not think. Reynaldo did not know this and there were words. Just words, nothing more. I have spoken to them both."

"Thanks, Cipriano."

The segundo shrugged. "It is my job. Now, you should go. Are those not tamales I hear calling to you?"

Johnny laughed. "I think you're right, and a wise man never lets Maria's tamales wait."

"And you are a wise man?"

"Very wise." Johnny dropped a hand on the Segundo's shoulder as he walked past. "Buenas noches, mi amigo."

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Johnny hung his hat on the peg by the front door and took off his gun belt. His hands performed their tasks without conscious thought, a preoccupied frown on his face. He turned toward the great room and was slammed back into the present when one hundred and eighteen pounds of unbridled enthusiasm threw itself headlong into his arms.

"Johnny! I missed you!"

"Whoa! Teresa," he smiled down at her as he tried to catch her and his balance at the same time. I missed you too, honey. Didn't expect you back today though."

Johnny put an arm around her waist and half carried her into the great room with her arms still clinging around his neck.

"Oh, Mr. Gerard had business over in this direction so I came back a day early and saved him an extra trip."

Scott raised an eyebrow as they entered the room.

Johnny responded by rolling his eyes. "Did she tell you that she missed you too?" he asked.

"Oh yes." Scott raised his glass to his still enveloped brother. "And I have the bruises to prove it."

Teresa giggled and released her stranglehold on Johnny's neck.

Johnny walked over to pour himself a drink and Murdoch looked up from his desk. "Pour one for me too," he said.

"So, Teresa, did you enjoy your trip?" Scott asked.

Johnny sat Murdoch's drink on his desk, walked over to the couch and sat down.

"It was wonderful, Scott. Absolutely, positively the most wonderful experience of my life!"

Johnny took a sip of his drink and smiled to himself. Teresa was almost glowing with happiness.

"Have you been to San Francisco?" she asked.

Scott nodded.

"Isn't it just the most marvelous place on earth?" she bubbled. "The museums, and the shops, and the restaurants. Oh, and the theater, plays, the opera, and ballet. There are bookstores, and candy stores, and milliners and a daily newspaper delivered right to your door."

Scott was grinning at her and Teresa noticed and blushed.

"Maybe it's not as grand as Boston or New York, but it's the most wonderful place that I've ever seen." Teresa's enthusiasm dropped by several degrees and a pout replaced her smile.

"Teresa, hearing you talk about it, it sounds better than either of those two cities."

That brought her smile back. "Oh, but Scott, I haven't even told you about the most exciting part. Mr. Gerard's sister, Mrs. Gerard, Susan and I all went one night to the California Women's Suffrage Society Convention."

"A suffrage meeting?" Scott said with a frown.

"Yes!" Her eyes sparkled. "Can you imagine? A whole group of women, no, not just a group, but a movement that embraces women from all over the nation, all working together to gain equality and the right to vote? It is just the most thrilling thing!"

She turned to the other end of the couch where Johnny was taking a sip of his drink.

"Johnny, how do you feel about granting women the right to vote?"

Johnny looked up from his drink. "What?"

"Johnny Lancer!" Teresa swatted him with a throw pillow. "What's wrong with women being allowed to vote?"

Johnny ducked away and raised an arm to fend off the pillow. He looked confused. "I don't know," he said, "I didn't say there was anything wrong with it. I never thought about it."

"Well maybe you should." She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms.

"OK."

"OK what?"

"OK, maybe I'll think about it."

Teresa made a disgusted face and shook her head. "Murdoch, " she said, turning toward his desk, "how do you feel about women being granted the right to vote?"

Murdoch never looked up from his books. "Uh-huh," he said, "that's nice, sweetheart."

"Murdoch!" she said.

But before he could do more than raise his head in surprise, Maria appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and called for Teresa to help serve dinner.

Teresa blew out an angry breath and flounced out of the room.

Murdoch looked at Johnny, who looked back and shrugged his shoulders.

"Scott," Murdoch said, transferring his attention to his older son, "what was that all about?"

Scott smiled. "Just consider, Sir, that you have been saved by the bell."

Johnny snorted and slouched down deeper into the couch.

Murdoch scowled and stood up. "Come on, you jokers, I don't know what's going on but I do know that I'm hungry."

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Dinner was a lively affair as Teresa chattered on about her trip to San Francisco, ending up with a detailed description of the suffrage meeting.

Scott frowned as he listened to Teresa go on. Finally he put down his fork. "I'm surprised that Gerard allowed you to associate with those political radicals."

Murdoch looked up. "What do you mean, Scott?"

"Back East those suffrage meetings were often the cause of near riots. There have been arrests and even acts of civil disobedience. I'm just not sure that is the sort of thing that Teresa should be involved in."

"If that's true, Teresa, I think Scott's right. It's certainly not anything that I want you to associate with."

"Don't be silly, Murdoch, these are perfectly respectable ladies." Teresa set down her fork and knife, at precise angles to her dinner plate. "After all, I went to the meeting with Mrs. Gerard and you approve of her. Besides, when a person is faced with an unjust law or a morally incorrect government, don't they have a civic obligation to oppose such injustice?

"And you, Mr. Scott Lancer," she turned and looked across at him, "didn't you just fight a war to ensure that all Americans received equal rights under the law? Wasn't one of the most important of those the right to vote? Or did you only fight for the rights of Americans who happen to be men?"

"Now wait a minute, it's not the same thing at all."

"Oh yes it is, Scott, it's exactly the same thing."

Scott drew in a breath to speak and Johnny kicked him under the table. Scott scowled at his brother and Johnny shook his head and whispered from behind his hand, "It doesn't pay to piss off the cook."

Meanwhile, Teresa had turned to Murdoch. "Do you think that women should be second class citizens?"

"Of course not, sweetheart, bu….."

"Good. I'm glad that at least one man in this family is fairly enlightened." She glared at Scott and Johnny. "Because we've arranged to have an organizing meeting here in Green River and Mrs. Matthews, who spoke at the meeting in San Francisco*, is coming here to deliver a speech to the local ladies. I told her that she could stay at Lancer while she was in the area."

"Now just wait a minute, young lady, don't you think you should have gotten permission before you issued that invitation?"

"She's a perfectly respectable woman, Murdoch, a widow and a member of San Francisco society. Besides, I didn't think I needed to get permission to ask a friend stay here."

Murdoch drew in a breath to say something but stopped. Scott watched in puzzlement as his father and brother stared at one another. Johnny sat, looking up at his father from under his brows, the look on his face and his entire attitude one of challenge.

Murdoch swallowed and looked away. "Yes, well, since you've already asked her we can hardly change our minds." He cleared his throat. "Of course your friends are welcome here, Teresa."

Johnny turned back to his meal without a word.

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Chapter 6

Johnny was out early the next morning giving Barranca his morning rubdown when Brody Stewart walked up to the stall. Johnny glanced back over his shoulder. "Yeah, Brody, what do you want?"

Brody dropped his head and cleared his throat. Then he snatched his hat off his head and held it tightly in both hands. "Umm, Johnny, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about causin' trouble yesterday."

"I'm not the one you should apologize to, Brody"

"Aw, Johnny," Brody crushed his hat a bit more, "I already talked to Naldo and explained as how I'm just a dumb redneck who don't mean no harm. I think we're OK now. But I, well, I wanted to let you know that I didn't mean nothing." He squeezed the hat a little harder.

Johnny tried hard not to smile. "I believe you, Brody, but you have to learn that you can't pull that shit on people that you don't know."

"Yes, sir," Brody whispered.

"And Brody…"

"Yeah?"

"Quit torturing that hat and put it back on your head."

Brody looked down in surprise. Then he grinned and punched the crown back into shape. He plopped it on his head with a big smile and backed up a couple of feet before he turned and took off out the door.

Johnny laughed.

He led Barranca outside and checked the cinch again before having a quiet word with Cipriano. The palomino snorted. Johnny swung aboard and walked over to where the hands were getting ready to mount up. "Naldo, you're with me today."

Naldo nodded and mounted and they rode out side by side.

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Tim Poe, one of the youngest of the hands, smiled as he watched them ride by. "Somebody said that Johnny and Naldo go back a long way."

Jigger Smith jerked on his cinch hard enough to make his horse shy. "Figures," he said, roughly hauling the animal back in line. "Couple of breeds like that probably didn't have nobody else who'd have anything to do with 'em."

Walt was walking by and stopped next to Jigger's horse. "Jigger, you got a rotten mouth on you. From now on, you damn well better keep it closed when you're around me or I'll close it for you. Got it?"

Jigger stared for a minute and then nodded.

"Good." Walt spit on the ground by Jigger's boot before he spun on his heel and stalked away.

Jigger turned back to his horse and spotted Tim. "What the hell do you think you're staring at?" he snarled.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not real sure." Tim grabbed his reins, swung up on his pony and jogged after Walt.

For the next three days Johnny and Naldo rode out together and came back smiling and joking each night.

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"Johnny." Murdoch called him over as he walked into the house. "I want you to go over to Oak Ridge tomorrow. Walt tells me that we might have a cat problem. They found a cow yesterday, all scratched up and her calf was missing. I thought you and Scott could check it out."

Johnny sat on the couch and pulled off his spurs. "OK, but there's no need to bother Scott. I'll grab Naldo. We'll head over there in the morning. I've been wanting to check on that old windmill down below the ridge anyway. If we have time we'll take care of that too."

Scott walked in from the dining room. "Did I hear my name?"

"Yeah." Johnny looked back over his shoulder and smiled at his brother. "I just told Murdoch he didn't need to bother you about tomorrow's work assignment." He stood up and gathered his spurs. "We've got a cat up in the hills that needs sorting out but I'll take Naldo."

Johnny slapped Scott on the stomach as he walked by. "Wouldn't want to take you away from those Army contracts that you've been having so much fun with."

"All right, Scott," Murdoch said, from his desk. "Since that's taken care of, I'd like you to take a look at this." When he got no response, Murdoch looked up to see Scott standing, staring after his brother.

"Scott?"

"What?" Scott jerked and turned toward his father. "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't hear you."

Murdoch looked at him curiously for a second and then pointed at the desktop. "I said that I'd like you to take a look at these papers."

Scott walked over to the desk but he still looked toward the stairs. "He seems to be spending a lot of time with Ramos, doesn't he?"

"Who? Your brother? Yes I suppose he is, but look here, what do you think of this?" They were soon immersed in a discussion of water rights legislation.

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"That cat was dead before she hit the ground," Johnny said. "Naldo got him on the first shot, right behind the shoulder."

Johnny and Jelly were crouched down by the shed. They'd spread the hide of the mountain lion on the ground and were examining it.

Jelly fingered the bullet hole. "She was a big one all right. Looks like a damn fine shot too. Was she the one that'd been at the cattle?"

"Looks that way. Can you tan her out for me? I thought she'd make a nice rug."

"Well a course I can." Jelly puffed out his chest. "Why I used to tan all my own leather. Made my own boots too if it comes to it."

"Don't need boots," Johnny grinned. " Just a rug."

"Humph!" Jelly turned a jaundiced eye in Johnny's direction. "Well, we'll just tack it out on the shed wall here and I'll get started. Might even manage to teach you a thing or two about…"

A small yelp from the garden distracted Johnny's attention.

Teresa was balanced on a ladder, picking some late season apples and the ladder had shifted. She was teetering on the edge of a fall.

Johnny started to get up but before he could move, Naldo vaulted the fence and sprinted over to steady the ladder. Johnny settled back in relief. He couldn't hear what was being said but he grinned as he watched Naldo try to talk Teresa down out of the tree.

Naldo held the ladder and extended a hand up to Teresa as if to help her down. She looked down at him, shook her head and laughed before she reached for another apple. She stretched to get it and missed her hold as it came free. Johnny snorted as it hit Naldo square on the head on its way to the ground. Jelly stopped his ramble to watch too.

Teresa leaned forward with both hands up to her face and said something to Naldo who was hunched over, one hand over the top of his head. He responded and she laughed again, a warm and friendly sound. Naldo looked up at her for a second and he chuckled too. He reached his hand up to her again but she shook her head and resumed picking.

Johnny and Jelly went back to their discussion of tanning techniques. A scream and the clatter of the falling ladder jerked their attention back to the garden.

The inevitable had happened. Teresa had overbalanced and the ladder had toppled but Naldo managed to catch her. He lowered her to the ground amid a bounty of rolling and bruised apples. His arms were tight around her waist and hers clutched his neck. Her feet gently touched the ground and they stood there, staring at one another.

Johnny slowly arose from the ground as the moment stretched out. Finally Naldo released her and stepped back. They looked at one another for another long beat before Teresa said something. Naldo shrugged and bent to retrieve the apples.

Johnny blew out a breath and turned back to Jelly. "You want to tack this thing up now?"

"I'll take care of that. I think you'd better have a talk with that boy. Let him know how the land lays around here, before he gets himself into a world of trouble."

"He wasn't doing anything wrong, Jelly. Hell, he saved her from a nasty fall."

Jelly raised an eyebrow. "Well now, that's true enough, but do you want to try telling that to the boss if he happens to see somethin' like that?"

Johnny chewed on his thumb for a moment. He blew out a deep breath and scowled at Jelly. "Isn't it about time that girl got married?" he asked before he stalked off.

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Johnny caught up with Naldo later that afternoon in the barn.

"Naldo, we have to talk."

Naldo looked up. "Yeah?"

"It's about Teresa."

"What about her?"

"I saw the two of you in the garden."

"I didn't do anything to her."

"I know you didn't. She might have gotten hurt if you hadn't been there to catch her." Johnny took a deep breath and pushed ahead. "It's just that it would probably be a good idea if you stayed away from her."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Naldo asked, his voice low and thick, his hands balling into fists.

"Take it easy and listen to me."

Naldo's temper flared. "Listen to what? What do you have to say, huh? You got yourself a cushy ranch and a family and all a sudden you're so much better than me? Is that it, old friend?"

Johnny put a hand on Naldo's chest and pushed him back against the barn wall. "Damn it, Naldo, cut it out, just stop it. Sit down and listen to me, will you?"

Naldo glared at Johnny, quivering with aggression until finally he broke eye contact and slid down the wall to sit in the dirt with his arms resting on his bent knees.

Johnny drew in a deep breath and crouched down in front of him.

"So, what are you sayin'?" Naldo hissed. "Mr. Big Man, Johnny Lancer?" He leaned heavily on the second name. "You saying that she's off limits because she's your sister?"

Johnny sighed. "Nope. What I'm telling you is that she's off limits because she's Murdoch Lancer's ward. And neither you, me, Scott, or any other man on this ranch is good enough for Murdoch's little darling. The first thing the old man did when Scott and I decided to stay was to warn us off of Teresa. What I'm telling you, Naldo, is that he'd break any of us in half if we so much as looked crossways at her. And he could do it too. You've seen him. He's the size of a goddamn grizzly. Hell, Naldo, it's not that you can't talk to her, it's just that it better be all you do."

Johnny watched, waiting for a reaction as Naldo sat frowning, fists resting on his knees, and then he shook his head. All the tension ran out of him. "Ah hell, Johnny, I didn't mean nothing." He picked up a stick and started fiddling with it. "I know that a lady like her isn't meant for someone like me."

Johnny felt a sudden pang of distress. "Naldo, that's not…"

Naldo waved his hand and cut him off. "I know what you mean." He looked at Johnny out of the corner of his eye and went back to peeling the bark off the stick. "It's just that she's so pretty and she was nice to me. It felt good to talk to her."

He glanced up at Johnny and grinned. "Those big brown eyes of hers, you know what they remind me of?"

Johnny shook his head.

"Remember the fawn I found that time we stayed in that old shack up in the hills?"

Johnny sank down to sit cross-legged on the ground and laughed. "Oh yeah, I remember. You had it following you around like a lap dog and every time I looked at it, all I could see was venison stew."

"Un huh, big tough guy. And who was it that almost climbed the frame of that drifter that wanted to take her off our hands for cash money?"

Johnny smiled and spun one of his spurs. "Hell, I didn't have any choice. She was your pet. I never would have heard the end of it if I'd sold her off."

"I see, and that was why I used to see you slipping her pieces of bread when you thought no one was looking?"

"Me?" Johnny looked up, putting on his best 'innocent' look. "I never did."

Naldo shook his head.

"Come on." Johnny rose from the ground and held his hand down to Naldo. "Cookie rang the dinner bell about five minutes ago. If you don't hurry there won't be anything left."

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Chapter 7

"Hey, Johnny." Scott looked at his brother across the dining table on Wednesday evening. "Are you coming into Green River with me on Saturday night? We've got a big poker game set up with the boys from the Double D. They're demanding a rematch after we cleaned them out the last time." Scott bounced his eyebrows at Johnny. "What do you say? The Lancer brothers against the world?"

"Sorry, Scott." Johnny shook his head. "Can't make it this time. You'll have to take 'em without me. I promised Naldo that we'd go into Morro Coyo and get some of Rosita's famous chili."

Murdoch looked up just in time to see a look of annoyance flit across Scott's face.

"You want to come too?" Johnny asked.

"No, thank you. The last time I ate Rosita's chili my stomach didn't settle down for a week."

"Aw, come on." Johnny's eyes danced. "I'm sure I could get her to make something nice and tame for you."

Scott shook his head. "I don't know which is worse, trying to burn out my stomach lining or having you tease me all night about not being able to take the heat. No, I'll stick to poker."

Scott's tone was just a little sharp and Johnny glanced up a puzzled look on his face, but before he could say anything, Teresa broke in.

"Oh, Murdoch," she said, "I almost forgot to tell you. I got a letter today from Mrs. Matthews. She's arriving Thursday of next week and we'll have the meeting in Green River on Saturday evening. Isn't it exciting?"

Murdoch looked up. "Mrs. Matthews? What meeting?"

"Murdoch," said Teresa, giving him an exasperated look. "Surely you remember. Mrs. Matthews, from San Francisco, and the suffrage meeting?"

"Oh." Murdoch turned and glared at Johnny who gave him a sweet smile and then turned to listen politely to Teresa.

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Murdoch handed Johnny a drink. "How is your friend doing?"

Johnny flashed a big smile and raised his glass in a salute. "You should wish for four more just like him. The man's been working me into the ground."

Scott looked up over the top of his book, and frowned.

"Really?" said Murdoch, settling into his chair.

Johnny shook his head and leaned forward, his smile fading. "Yeah, Murdoch, really. He's been working hard, keepin' quiet and staying out of trouble. Imagine that."

"I didn't mean…." Murdoch started.

Scott's book snapped shut. "I was talking to Cipriano today. He says there's been some trouble in the bunk house."

Johnny looked around. "What?"

"He said that a couple of the hands have had items come up missing."

Johnny stood up, his hands fisting at his sides. "That don't mean it was Naldo."

Scott folded his hands over his book. "I never said it was," he replied coolly.

Johnny stood studying his brother for a long moment, a puzzled look on his face. "No," he said after a long pause. "I don't suppose you did say it." He turned and walked out.

Scott picked up his book again and looked up to find Murdoch's eyes on him. "What?"

"Are you going to go talk to him?"

"No." Scott returned to his book.

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Johnny rode back to the hacienda Saturday afternoon, thinking about a bath, a change of clothes, and maybe a short nap before taking off for Morro Coyo and a night on the town. When he rode into the yard his plans went up in smoke.

A couple of the men were hitching a team to the buckboard and a dozen cowboys were milling around the back of the wagon. Jelly was sitting in the tray with Brody Stewart and it was easy to see that Brody was hurting.

Johnny dismounted and walked over to where Scott was supervising the operation. Just as he got there, Scott waved the wagon on with an admonition to the driver to take it easy.

"What's going on?" Johnny asked.

Scott stood with his hands on his hips and watched the wagon head on down the road toward town. "Looks like Brody broke his arm."

Johnny winced. "How bad?"

Scott glanced over at his brother. "I've seen worse but it's definitely broken." Scott motioned Walt to come over. "You were out with them, weren't you?" Walt nodded. "What went wrong?"

"We were just finishing up and getting ready to head back to the home place when one of the steers made a break for the brush. Brody went after him. He was doing some real pretty cutting when suddenly the horse went one way and Brody and the saddle went the other. Brody fell and busted his arm."

Scott sighed. "Well, I suppose even the best of riders fall occasionally."

"Yeah," Walt said, "and sometimes they have help."

Johnny's head came up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The cinch parted."

"And?"

Walt looked up, an angry light in his eyes. "I took a look at it afterwards. It had been cut almost all the way through. It weren't no accident."

"Are you sure about that?" Scott asked.

"Yeah."

Several of the hands muttered angrily.

"Wouldn't surprise me," said Jigger Smith, "if it was that breed Ramos what did it."

At the word breed, Scott's eyes narrowed and his shoulders bunched. He started to move toward Smith but Johnny laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Leave him to me."

Johnny stalked over to Jigger. "You got any proof to back that up?"

Jigger stepped back a pace and then seemed to find his backbone. "Ain't nobody else had a beef with Brody but your buddy there."

"Cipriano." Johnny shouted.

Cipriano walked over to the group of men. "Si, Senor?"

"Has there been any bad blood between Brody and Naldo?"

"Not that I have seen. That first day, there was a small problem but the two of them talked and all has been well since then." Cip shot a dark look at Jigger.

"If that's all you've got, Smith, you'd damn well better keep your accusations to yourself. And while you're at it, watch your fuckin' mouth before somebody washes it out for you. Do you understand me?" Johnny took a step forward and glared at the man.

Jigger took another step back only to find his shoulders up against the fence. He swallowed heavily. "Yeah, I got it." He turned away, muttering to himself as he went.

"Smith." Johnny's voice stopped him in his tracks. "If you have something else to say, you better say it up front."

Jigger glanced over his shoulder. "Nah, I don't have nothing to say."

"Good, then get out of my sight."

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They'd just finished Sunday dinner. Sam had come back from church with Murdoch and Teresa to spend a quiet afternoon at Lancer. He was, at this moment, trapped in the great room listening to Teresa's latest thoughts on the suffrage movement. Scott and Johnny had smiled and retreated to the corral to check on one of the ranch's best cutting horses. The horse had pulled up lame yesterday. Now Scott was bent over, watching his brother, one hand resting on the gelding's rump. "So what do you think?" he asked. Johnny was down on one knee, running his hand over the horse's near foreleg.

Johnny's response was a grunt as he frowned in concentration, his fingers exploring the ligaments and tendons of the horse's lower leg. He blew out a breath through his nose and looked up at Scott. "Looks like he's strained it all right. There's a lot of heat right here." He lightly touched the injured area. "And you can feel the swelling. But the good news is that I don't think he bowed it. If we give him a little doctoring, then turn him out for a month or so, I think he'll be all right."

"That's what I wanted to hear. He's a good old boy." Scott scratched the horse just above his tail.

Johnny stood and swiped at the dust on his knee. "Walk him out a little bit and let me take another look." Just then the horse threw his head up, his ears pricked at attention. An excited buzz of male voices broke through the brothers' concentration.

Over on the back side of the barn a tight circle of men was forming with three or four still arriving. Scott and Johnny looked at each other in puzzlement until the word 'fight' drifted free of the general noise.

"Damn it." Johnny ran across the paddock and vaulted the fence, throwing himself at the circle of cheering men. He bulled his way through, shouldering men aside and yanking others out of his way. The tone of the watching cowhands changed from eager to ugly as Johnny reached the inside of the circle. He pushed through just in time to see Naldo pull out the knife that always hung at his side.

Jigger Smith, who had a good five inches on Naldo, had been circling, his fists cocked and an eager, almost predatory, look on his face. Suddenly he found himself faced with a totally different situation. He backed toward the surrounding ring of men, his hands up and open and a look of surprise and caution on his face.

Naldo lunged and missed, but not by much, as Jigger dodged away.

Walt, who was standing to Johnny's left, started to pull his gun but Johnny grabbed his wrist and shook his head no. He stepped out into the circle. "Break it up," he shouted. He motioned Jigger away and reached for Naldo.

As soon as Johnny touched his arm, Naldo spun, his blade flashing hot and bright in the afternoon sun. Johnny jerked and stumbled back, his shoulders finding support against the circle of angry men, his hand pressed to his ribs, blood seeping out between his fingers.

The yard seemed to go dead silent as Johnny and Naldo stared at one another. Naldo's eyes widened impossibly and the color washed out of his face as he slowly rose from a crouch. He shook his head as the knife dropped, unnoticed from his fingers. A single word rippled the silence. "No," he whispered.

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Chapter 8

Johnny pushed himself away from the ring of bodies and started to take a step but then Scott was beside him, demanding his attention and reaching for his shirt. Cipriano was there and Walt too, the silence exploded in voices and shouts and questions. Then Murdoch's voice roared above the rest and his father's shadow blocked out the sun. The voices and the hands were everywhere, undoing his shirt, pressing in on him and stealing the air. Someone pushed down hard on the wound and he groaned and staggered back. There were too many of them. He needed to get clear and he needed to find Naldo.

He surged upright, shoving everyone away and staggering into the empty space he'd created. "Back off," he said, breathing hard. "Leave me be."

"Cipriano," Scott said quietly, "get the men out of here. Murdoch and Sam and I will take care of him."

Cipriano nodded and began moving the men back toward the bunkhouse.

Johnny stood and watched them go, his shirttails moving in the breeze and his left arm clamped protectively to his side.

Sam started toward him but Scott put out an arm and shook his head. "I'll do it. Just wait."

Scott put his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to his brother.

Johnny watched him approach. He took a deep breath and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. "Where's Naldo?" he asked.

"I believe Walt took him to the guardhouse."

"No." Johnny shook his head. "It wasn't his fault. I need to…" He staggered as he started to turn away.

Scott reached out with a steadying hand. "All right, but first don't you think it would be a good idea for Sam to do some repair work?" Scott nodded toward Johnny's bloody side.

Johnny looked down at his hand; it was pressed tight to his side and the blood dripped off it in a steady rhythm. "Yeah," he took a deep breath, "You want to give me a hand?"

Scott slipped an arm around his brother's waist and they started for the house, Murdoch and Sam trailing behind.

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Murdoch crossed his arms and glared at his injured son. Stubborn, he thought, the boy was nothing if not stubborn.

They'd brought him inside and settled him on the couch. Sam had put in a neat row of stitches to close the four-inch gash. All the while shaking his head and muttering that it wasn't safe to accept an invitation to Sunday dinner at Lancer. He'd told Johnny to be careful of the stitches; no work or riding was allowed until he'd cleared it. Sam had left after that, and Scott had gone upstairs to get a new shirt for Johnny.

That had left Murdoch alone to argue with his stubborn son.

"Sam said I'm gonna be fine."

Scott walked into the great room with a clean shirt in his hands. "That's not what he said." He walked over to the couch. "What he said was that you were damned lucky. If that knife had caught you across the belly instead of your ribs, we might be planning a funeral right now."

Johnny stared down his brother for a moment before he looked away. "Yeah, but it didn't, and I'm gonna' be fine. So just leave it alone."

Scott threw up his hands. He tossed the fresh shirt at Murdoch. "You take care of him," he said, "because if I stay here right now, I'm likely to kill him myself." He stalked out of the great room and his heavy steps could be heard going back up the stairs.

Murdoch smiled and looked at Johnny. "I think you've managed to upset your brother."

Johnny snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm not too happy myself right now." He looked down at his side. "You want to throw me that shirt? I'm freezin' here."

Murdoch walked over and sat down beside the couch. "If you sit up a little, I'll help you with this."

Johnny leaned forward and Murdoch slid the sleeve up over his left arm.

"Johnny, about Ramos…"

"Where is he?"

"He's still in the guardhouse."

Johnny sighed, his hands suddenly still on the buttons of the shirt. "Mierda. Damn it, Murdoch, he didn't mean to do it. It was my own fault for coming up behind him like that in the middle of a fight."

Murdoch's voice was hard and firm. "That may be, Johnny. But even if I were prepared to ignore the fact that he took a knife to my son, which, by the way, I am not prepared to do, the fact remains that he pulled that same knife on an unarmed man. He should be held for the sheriff."

"Murdoch. . ."

"No. I'm not going to back down on this, Johnny. I want him out of here before anybody else gets hurt, or you get killed. If you don't want to press charges against him I won't fight you on it, provided he's off Lancer. Today."

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Johnny walked into the guardhouse a little over an hour later. He took the key from the cowboy who was sitting in the outer room and then jerked his chin toward the door, indicating that the man should leave.

He stared at the door for a moment and then walked over and turned the key. Leaving it in the lock, he walked inside.

Naldo was sitting on the bunk, his hands clasped on his knees and his head bowed. He glanced up briefly when Johnny walked in before he pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Finally he looked up.

"Are you OK?"

"I will be." Johnny lightly touched his side, "I got me some fancy new stitches over my ribs, but I'll heal."

"I didn't mean to cut you. I wouldn't ever…."

"I know that."

A silence fell between them.

"You going to turn me over to the law?"

"No. Hell, it was my fault as much as it was yours. But Naldo, you got to do something about that temper of yours. You pulled a knife on an unarmed man. If you'd managed to kill him, they'd have hanged you, no ifs, ands, or buts about it."

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I just get so mad sometimes. And that asshole's been riding me ever since I set foot on this place." He shook his head. "Aw hell. It don't matter now. I guess I've got my traveling papers?" He looked up at Johnny uncertainly. "I figure your old man has had it with me." Then he snorted. "Probably that brother of yours too." A small grin came and went on his face. "He never did get over my sneakin' up on your camp that first night."

Johnny smiled and looked down. "No, he didn't, did he?" A heavy silence stretched out between them and then Johnny sighed. "The Old Man's laid down the law, Naldo. Either he calls the sheriff or you hit the road. I figured that you'd prefer the road." He looked up. "I'm sorry. I wanted it to work out."

A shrug and a smile were the answer. "Hey, you tried. I'm just glad I got the chance to see you again. After all, I spent years thinkin' you were dead."

"Come on, let's get your stuff." Johnny threw his good arm over his friends shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you, kid."

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Johnny leaned against the fence, one arm propped over the top rail, the other held protectively close to his side. He stood and watched as Naldo rode away, his figure dwindling into the fading light until he disappeared into a veil of twilight shadows. Johnny turned to walk back to the house but found himself face to face with one of the hands.

"Tim, what are you doing out here?"

The boy shifted from foot to foot, his head down, avoiding Johnny's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.

Johnny sighed. He was tired and sore and wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed, but the kid looked miserable. "Sorry about what?" he asked.

The boy looked up and this time sought out Johnny's gaze. "I'm real sorry that your friend had to leave. I didn't have any trouble with him. He seemed like a nice guy."

"Thanks. I appreciate your saying it." Johnny turned once more toward the house.

"Yeah, well, that ain't all of it," said the uncertain voice.

Johnny swung back toward the young hand and studied him. The boy was nervous, swaying back and forth on his feet, his restless hands unable to find a comfortable place to light. "What do you mean?" This time Johnny's voice was a little sharper.

The boy took a deep breath and pulled back his shoulders. "I mean that I think it's partly my fault that Naldo had to leave."

Johnny squared up to face him. "Go on."

"Well," he dropped his head again and then rushed on, "the other night I went back to the barn late to check on my horse. He'd been acting a little off earlier and I wanted to make sure he didn't colic. Anyway, I heard something as I went past the tack room." He shifted his feet and glanced over his shoulder before continuing. "Jigger was in there. When he saw me he rushed out and shoved me against the wall. He grabbed hold of my throat and said if I told anybody that I'd seen him there, he'd make me sorry." He looked up into Johnny's eyes. "I didn't really see him do anything. I didn't really know that he'd done anything. But when Brody's cinch came apart I remembered that Jigger was over by Brody's saddle when I first saw him."

Johnny let loose with a phrase in Spanish. The boy cringed.

Johnny pulled himself together. "It's not you I'm mad at, Tim."

"You should be. I should have said something earlier, but Jigger, he's a real mean fella." The boy looked up, his face a study in misery. "I was afraid," he whispered.

Johnny put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's OK. After tonight, you won't have to be afraid of him anymore."

Tim smiled. "Does that mean that Naldo can come back?"

It was Johnny's turn to feel miserable. "No. I don't think so," he sighed. "But," he looked up with a wolfish grin, "it gives me what I need to do something I've been putting off for too long."

"What?"

"You'll see. Do me a favor and go over to Cipriano's place and ask him to meet me at the bunkhouse."

"Why?"

"Don't ask, just go."

Tim ran off down the lane toward the little collection of houses where Lancer's married hands lived. Johnny watched him go. He slipped his gun out of the holster and checked it over before walking back to the hacienda to collect something he'd need.

He was standing in the shadow of a big oak tree when Cipriano approached the bunkhouse.

"Hola, Cipriano."

"Que pasa, Senor?"

"I got a little housecleaning to do. Thought you'd like to be a part of it."

Cipriano thought for a second and then smiled. "Si. Gracias, I would enjoy that."

"Good, let's get it done, it's past time."

"Senor Johnny, why now?"

Cipriano's face hardened as Johnny told him what Tim had said.

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The atmosphere in the bunkhouse was thick with sweat. A layer of smoke hung suspended just under the ceiling. Johnny stepped through the door and stopped to survey the room.

It was a big, open space meant to accommodate a lot of men. The current roster wasn't large enough to fill it. Johnny's eyes flickered over the occupants. Pete was repairing a piece of tack at one of the tables. Mitch and Brazos were watching. Cookie was in the kitchen area finishing the evening clean up. Others sat around reading or jawing. The biggest group was gathered around a poker game at the far table. That's where Johnny spotted Jigger, a cigar clenched in his teeth and a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Jigger Smith," Johnny called out. His voice was low pitched but carried an unmistakable note of authority that caused most of the poker players to look up and lay their cards on the table.

The men fell silent and nobody moved.

Jigger was feeling full of himself and made the mistake of letting it show. "Yeah," he said, not looking up from his cards. "What do you want?"

Johnny clenched his jaw and made a sudden change in plans. Normally he wouldn't do this in public but he figured Jigger had it coming. The rest of the boys needed to hear a few things too.

"I want you to look me in the eye when you talk to me, Mister."

Jigger laid his cigar on the edge of the table and looked up, his eyes hooded and insolent. "I'm lookin'."

Johnny shook his head. "You stupid son-of-a-bitch. You're fired."

Jigger surged to his feet. "What?" he shouted.

"You heard me." Johnny tossed an envelope onto the table. "Here's your pay. Gather up your kit and get out."

"Why? I didn't do anything."

"I know. That's a big part of the problem. We don't take to lazy workers here at Lancer. But what we really don't like is a man who'll sabotage his friend's saddle just to make another man look bad."

"Who said I did?"

"I'm saying it, Smith."

Smith looked around until he spotted Tim. "You miserable little bastard. I told you to keep your mouth shut."

An angry mutter rose from the men and a small, satisfied smile flickered across Johnny's face.

"Now you're gonna be sorry," Jigger shouted. He started across the table after the boy but the metallic click of Johnny's pistol being cocked froze him where he stood. His gaze flew back to Johnny.

"I got one more thing to say to you, Smith. You're gonna leave that kid alone. If you do anything to him, if anything at all happens to him, hell, if he gets caught out in the rain and catches cold, I'm coming after you. Understood?"

Jigger glowered and then nodded.

"Good. You better hope he stays healthy and happy, or you'll be the one with a problem." Johnny stared him down for a long tense moment before he uncocked his gun and slipped it back into his holster. "Now git."

Jigger looked around him but didn't find any support from the other men. "You can't mean for me to leave now. It's the middle of the night."

"That's exactly what I mean. We'll give you a lantern if you're afraid of the dark. But I want you out of here now. Cipriano, see to it."

"With pleasure, Senor." The big Mexican started toward Jigger as Johnny turned and walked out the door.

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Scott stepped out of the shadow of the trees as Johnny left the bunkhouse. "So," he said, "mind telling me what you're doing wandering around out here instead of resting in the house?"

"Just taking care of some long overdue business." He smiled. "What are you doing out here?"

Scott raised an eyebrow. "I came out looking for a long overdue brother."

Johnny snorted and ran his hand through his hair. "OK. How about if you just collect me and take me back inside."

They turned as the bunkhouse door opened and Cipriano shoved Jigger outside. The cowboy recovered his balance and looked around. When he saw Johnny his temper exploded. "You filthy breed, you're gonna be sorry you ever messed with me."

He lunged toward Johnny but before he could cover half the distance, a powerful right connected with his jaw and laid him out on the ground.

For the second time, Johnny reholstered his gun. He looked down on the unconscious Smith and shook his head. "I wish I'd done that."

"I'm glad you didn't." Scott shook his hand and blew on his scraped knuckles. "We'd have to get Sam out here to redo those stitches."

"I am sorry, Senor," Cipriano's knelt over Jigger's unconscious body, "I let him get away from me."

"Don't worry," Johnny grinned. "My guardian angel here took care of it. Come on, Scott, what do you say you get me back to the house. 'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm way past tired here."

Scott and Cipriano exchanged a worried look and then Scott hurried to catch up with his brother.

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Chapter 9

Monday was a quiet day at Lancer. The hands left for their assignments without their usual noisy exuberance. Most of the household spent their time tiptoeing around trying not to awaken Johnny. Sam showed up around two. He noted that Johnny had a fever, which didn't surprise him. He prescribed willow bark tea. He also commented on the fact that Johnny had done more than he should have at some point because his stitches were red and irritated and looked like they'd been pulled. This also didn't surprise him. He tsked and lectured. Johnny just rolled over and went back to sleep.

Tuesday, Johnny spent part of the day napping on the couch in the great room. His fever faded as the hours went by and by midafternoon, it was gone. He was doing better but when he moved it was easy to see he was still in pain.

Wednesday was closer to normal. Johnny was feeling better and set about turning the place on its ear. He wanted to know where they'd hidden his boots, how Barranca was doing, who was handling his chores. He wandered into the kitchen and made a pest of himself. He poked at the pots and pans on the stove and complained about the food he'd been given. Maria put up with him as long as she could and then threw up her hands and drove him out with her wooden spoon. He would have checked on how Jelly was coming with the lion skin but they wouldn't let him outside. The only person he didn't bother was Murdoch, and only because he suspected that if he wound his father up, he'd end up doing bookwork. Even boredom was preferable to an afternoon spent sitting still and concentrating on those cramped little numbers. Mostly though, he wanted to find out if anyone had heard anything about Naldo or seen Jigger Smith. No one could tell him anything.

Thursday morning, Murdoch woke Johnny early. He walked into his son's bedroom and dropped the missing boots on the floor by the bed. The loud thud brought Johnny half upright, his right hand buried out of sight under his pillow.

Murdoch's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "There are your boots. Put them on and take yourself outside. You are to do no riding, no lifting, no pulling, no heavy work at all. Is that understood?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Aside from that I don't care what you do. Just stay out of the house. One more day like yesterday and the entire domestic staff has threatened to quit…and that includes Teresa!"

Murdoch aimed one more glare at his younger son before he spun on his heel and strode out of the room, shutting the door forcefully behind him.

Johnny sagged back against the pillows, blinking his eyes and trying to come fully awake. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and then he laughed and threw back the covers.

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Johnny came back in for lunch. He figured no matter what, they'd probably be willing to feed him, especially if he kept a low profile. He listened as the conversation went back and forth over soup and leftover pot roast. Teresa was practically bubbling over. Her friend from San Francisco was arriving on the afternoon stage and she could hardly wait.

Murdoch had assigned Scott the task of driving her into Morro Coyo to collect their guest. Scott didn't seem too happy about it.

"I could drive her in." It was the first thing he'd said since they sat down and everyone's head turned toward him, as though they'd forgotten he was there. "If Scott doesn't want to take the time, I could drive Teresa in."

Scott started to agree but Murdoch beat him to it.

"You'll do no such thing. Sam said you're supposed to take it easy until he says otherwise, so you're going to stay right here and take it easy. Is that clear?"

Johnny opened his mouth to argue and then decided it wasn't worth the effort. "Yeah," he said. Besides, if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that the team they used for the surrey was a little strong. Johnny chuckled to himself. Strong, hell, when they were feelin' good, they pulled like a freight train. If he had to hold 'em in all the way there and back, he'd be sore as a boil by the time he was done.

Murdoch stared at Johnny, his eyes narrowed in thought. Johnny figured that he didn't trust the easy victory. Well, it never hurt to keep 'em guessing.

"If Scott sees Sam, he can ask him to drop by and check you out."

Johnny nodded and went back to his soup. He got a chuckle out of the stunned silence from the rest of the table.

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"Hey Scott." Johnny managed to corner his brother in the barn before he left. "Do me a favor."

"Sure, what do you need?"

"While you're in town, will you keep an eye out for Naldo? I'd like to know how he's doing."

Scott looked down at his hands. "All right, I can do that."

"Thanks." Johnny wandered off toward the orchard.

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The afternoon stage was almost on time. For which, Scott was extremely grateful. He wanted to get this done and get back to the ranch. He was still uncertain about Teresa's involvement with what he viewed as a radical political movement. In his experience, the women who supported the suffrage movement were strident, unpleasant and unattractive. He was not looking forward to sharing his home with one of them, even briefly.

He left the surrey down the street and walked Teresa back to the freight office. After waiting for a few minutes, she went across the square to speak to an acquaintance. Scott ran some errands and then settled in on the bench in front of the stage office. He smiled as his mind flashed back to his first encounter with this sleepy little square. Now that, he thought, was a stage just packed full of surprises.

He'd just made himself comfortable and stretched out his long legs when the rumble of the coach preceded it into the square. He rose to his feet and pushed his hat back on his head. He noticed Teresa hurrying back in his direction.

The stage made a noisy and dusty stop, the horses shaking their harness and blowing out great breaths. The freight agent came out with a wooden box that he placed on the ground to serve as a step. Then he opened the door. "Welcome to Morro Coyo, folks."

The first passenger off was a well-dressed man in a black broadcloth coat and an embroidered silk vest. Scott labeled him a gambler. The man turned and helped a tall attractive woman with a jaunty hat to step down from the coach. Next off was Ted Mirro, a local businessman. Scott nodded to him. A frazzled looking young mother followed him, with a baby in her arms and a young boy clinging to her skirts. The last passenger was a short, gray haired woman, dressed entirely in black, her reticule clutched protectively in her hand and a disapproving look on her face.

Scott sighed. He swept his hat off his head and ran his hand over his hair and then he stepped forward. "Mrs. Matthews?" he inquired.

The gray haired woman swung around and peered up at Scott with an indignant glare. "I beg your pardon. Do I know you, young man?"

Scott was about to make a reply when Teresa appeared at his side and tugged at his arm.

"Excuse us, Ma'am," she said as she pulled him away.

He looked down at Teresa for an explanation. He could see a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "That's not her, Scott. That's Mrs. Matthews," she said, indicating the tall slender woman who was standing to one side, still chatting with the gambler.

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"Teresa," the woman said, extending both her hands. "How wonderful to see you. I am so looking forward to this visit."

The two women hugged. "Oh Mrs. Matthews…."

"Now, Teresa, I told you before, you must call me Rowena. Please?"

Teresa laughed. "Yes, of course. Oh, I'm so glad that you're here."

Scott spent the time while they talked studying their visitor. She was five foot seven or eight, and slender. She was wearing an elegant gray traveling suit and the bonnet that he'd noticed earlier. It sported a long pheasant feather cocked back at a jaunty angle. Scott thought she was probably in her early to mid thirties.

Just then he noticed that the woman had looked up and her eyes were fixed on him.

"Teresa, my dear, you haven't introduced your escort."

"Oh! I'm sorry." Teresa's hand flew to her mouth. Then she straightened and in a formal voice she proceeded. "Mrs. Rowena Matthews, I would like to present Mr. Scott Lancer. Mr. Lancer, please meet Mrs. Matthews." She gestured toward her guest.

Rowena laughed and extended her hand. "I'm happy to meet you, Mr. Lancer. You are, I take it, one of Teresa's brothers?"

Scott shook the extended hand. "Please, call me Scott. And yes, Teresa is my father's ward so we are, after a fashion, siblings."

"Very well, and you must call me Rowena. There. Now we have that all settled."

Teresa laughed.

"Mrs. Matthews, um, Rowena, is there anything that you need here in town?"

"No, I don't believe so." She turned to Teresa. "This isn't where we'll be having our meeting, is it?"

"No, that will be in Green River. We'll go in early on Saturday and get everything ready."

"In that case," Scott said, "would you ladies like to wait while I go get the surrey?"

"Oh," Rowena said. "Can't we walk? I've been sitting in that stage for so long. Surely it can't be far?"

"It's not far." Scott gestured toward the buggy. "Just down the street."

"Good." Rowena tucked one arm through Teresa's and the other through Scott's. "Shall we go?"

For some reason, Scott was very aware of her as they walked along, very close together. She glanced up at him and there was an amused twinkle in her hazel eyes.

Something about the way she looked at him made Scott vaguely uncomfortable.

When they reached the surrey, Scott handed Teresa up into the back seat. He turned around to help Mrs. Matthews but she held back.

"Teresa, do you mind if I sit in the front? That way I can see you both and I'll get the best view of this wonderful scenery?"

"Of course not," Teresa said. She sounded a little confused, but eager to please.

Teresa kept up a running commentary about the area and the places that they passed. Mrs. Matthews listened and commented occasionally. Several times she made a point to draw Scott into the conversation.

Scott's attention was on his driving. He was a good man with the lines but since the last rains, some sections of the road had become heavily rutted and scattered with potholes. The matched team of bays that were hitched to the surrey were a well-trained pair, but eager. They set a pace that would have been excellent on a flat, well-graded road, but that made avoiding the pitfalls of this rural byway a little difficult.

During one particularly bad stretch, Mrs. Matthews turned back toward the front, the better to brace herself against the bouncing and lurching of the surrey.

Scott tightened up another notch on the team but they set their jaws against the bit and forged ahead. The muscles in Scotts arms and shoulders bunched and flexed as he fought the over eager team. He heard a small sound from Mrs. Matthews as the buggy bounced heavily.

Her hand grabbed his thigh as the surrey hit a particularly bad rut. Scott jumped a little but he was concentrating on controlling the horses. His mind was on his driving, right up to the point where he realized she hadn't let go.

He looked over in surprise and found his glance met by a pair of very knowing and thoroughly amused hazel eyes. Mrs. Matthews smiled at him. "Very nice," she said softly.

Scott's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Your driving," she said. "You're doing a very nice job with the horses." Then she patted his thigh and retrieved her hand. "Ah, Teresa," she turned toward the back seat. "Such beautiful country."

Scott hoped he wasn't blushing. He turned his attention back to the horses. Or at least he tried.

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Chapter 10

"King me," Johnny said. He was playing checkers with Brody on the porch of the bunkhouse. He figured that since neither of them was good for much right now, they could at least keep each other entertained.

He looked up when he heard the surrey coming into the yard. The team was lathered but still stepping high. Judging from the look on Scott's face, they'd given him a hard time. Johnny smiled and was glad he hadn't pushed the argument about driving into town.

Murdoch came out and helped the ladies down. Scott took the surrey over to the barn. Johnny went back to his game. Brody made his move and Johnny promptly jumped two of his pieces.

A little later, Scott came walking across from the barn. Johnny was enjoying the breeze. Brody had given up after his third loss and had gone inside to take a nap.

Scott plopped into the empty chair and sat staring across the yard.

"Did you hear anything about Naldo?" Johnny asked.

Scott shook his head. "I didn't see Sam either."

Johnny waited for more but Scott just sat and stared.

"They give you a hard time?" Johnny asked.

"Who?" Scott sat up and gave him a sharp look.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Not who, them, the team."

"Oh." Scott sagged back into the chair.

"Scott?" Johnny asked and got no response. "So," he said a few minutes later, "what's the Widow Matthews like?"

Scott glared at him. "She's a barracuda."

Johnny looked up. "Huh?"

"Barracuda, a very nasty man-eating fish. And, God help me, I think I'm the man."

Johnny stared at him and a big, slow smile blossomed on his face.

"She grabbed my leg," Scott protested. "Here," he pointed, "up high. Right in front of Teresa."

Johnny started to laugh. The more he laughed, the angrier Scott became.

"Stop it, Johnny. This isn't funny."

"It's not?" Johnny rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Boy you must have a different way of lookin' at funny back east, because from where I stand, funny don't even begin to cover this." Johnny snickered again. "Seems like she's a few years older than you."

"I know it." Scott rested his chin on his hand.

"Then again," said Johnny, "from what I saw, she's not a bad lookin' woman."

"She makes me feel like a rabbit being stalked by a coyote."

Johnny started laughing again and then he clutched his ribs and groaned.

"What's the matter?" Scott leaned forward in concern.

"Hurts my ribs," Johnny gasped.

"Humph. Serves you right." Scott stood and stalked toward the house.

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Johnny was looking forward to dinner that night and he wasn't thinking about the meal. Scott was providing him with more entertainment than he'd had since Sam had confined him to the hacienda. He didn't intend to waste the opportunity.

The conversation at dinner was a mix of politics, history and current California affairs and personalities. Finally Rowena turned to Johnny. "You've been awfully quiet. Tell me something about yourself."

"Oh, there's nothing much to tell about me, ma'am." Johnny drawled. "Kicked around a lot from here to Mexico. Had some fun. Got in some trouble, got out again. Really not much to say."

Murdoch glanced up with a suspicious look on his face. Scott looked worried.

"My brother here, now he's another matter."

Rowena raised a delicate brow in interest and smiled at Scott. Scott glared at Johnny.

"Yup," said Johnny, "he's quite a man and the best of the bunch around here. Why he's college -educated you know. You ever heard of Harvard?"

She nodded.

"Well, that's the one. He was raised in real polite society too. Knows all about which fork and knife to use at a fancy dinner. Why he's even a genuine war hero."

"Really?" she said, steepling her hands under her chin.

"Oh, yes, ma'am." Johnny jerked as Scott's foot connected with his shin but his smile never wavered.

Teresa just agreed with Johnny. Murdoch broke in and changed the subject.

Johnny spent the rest of the meal avoiding his brother's evil scowl.

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Friday morning, Johnny was sitting on the veranda, braiding a new length of rawhide into a worn riata. A glass of Teresa's lemonade sat at his elbow and a teasing little breeze blew through every once in a while, rustling the leaves of the vines that grew up the columns. He'd just about decided that he might be able to live with being laid up, at least on days like this. He looked up to see Scott start toward him from across the yard, only to suddenly change direction and disappear behind the smokehouse.

Johnny heard a soft footstep behind him. "Miz Matthews," he drawled, without looking.

"Johnny," she said. "How are you today?"

"I'm doin' just fine, ma'am." He glanced back over his shoulder. "How about you?"

"I'm well, Mr. Lancer, very well indeed." She walked around in front of him and leaned against the pillar. "Such a beautiful day. I thought that it might be lovely to go for a ride this afternoon."

Johnny looked up from his braiding, one side of his mouth twitching up in a smile. "Maybe we could get Scott to show you around the place."

"Why, Johnny," she said, "that would be very nice."

Two innocent sets of eyes met in perfect understanding. They both grinned.

Johnny stood up. "I'll see what I can do."

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Johnny stood by the French doors watching Scott and their visitor ride out for a tour of the ranch. He chuckled softly to himself.

Murdoch looked up from his desk.

"Johnny, what are you up to?"

"Me? Why?"

"Your brother seemed a little irritated with you when he left with Mrs. Matthews."

"Aw, don't worry about it." Johnny took another peek outside. "Scott spends half his life irritated with me. It's like a hobby with him. So, Murdoch, when can I get out of here?"

Murdoch started to rummage through one of the desk drawers. "Scott said Sam wasn't in town and he hasn't cleared you to ride yet."

Johnny threw himself down on the couch and winced when the stitches in his side pulled. He hoped the old man hadn't seen. "Damn it, I'm going to go out of my mind just layin' around here."

Murdoch looked over and smiled. "I'll tell you what," he said, "why don't you go with Scott tomorrow when he takes the ladies into Green River? You and Scott can stay overnight and make sure the meeting goes well, and then you can bring Teresa and Mrs. Matthews back in the morning."

Johnny sighed and put his stocking clad feet up on the coffee table. "Better than nothing, I suppose."

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Chapter 11

The next day after lunch, Scott pulled the surrey up to the door of the hacienda. Johnny helped him load the ladies' overnight bags and the supplies they were taking for the suffrage meeting. Teresa and Mrs. Matthews were spending the night in Green River with a friend of Teresa's.

They'd just finished when the ladies emerged from the house, each carrying a few last minute items. They tucked these onto the floor in the back seat of the surrey and Mrs. Matthews walked around to the passenger side of the front seat.

Scott looked up. "Oh, Mrs. Matthews, I'm sorry, but Johnny's going to ride up front with me today. He's very good with the horses."

"Really?" she said, looking puzzled.

"Yes. That way, if I have trouble with the team, the way I did on Thursday,

Johnny will be right here to, um, lend me a hand. Won't you brother?"

Johnny looked surprised. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

Scott helped Teresa into the surrey and climbed in himself, leaving Johnny to assist Mrs. Matthews. He offered her his hand and raised an eyebrow. She gave him a resigned smile.

"I don't recall you having any trouble on Thursday." Teresa said.

Johnny coughed, and so did Mrs. Matthews.

Scott glared at his younger brother.

Johnny shrugged. "Dust," he said, settling into his seat.

Scott slapped the reins down on the haunches of the team and they took off with a jerk that had everyone grabbing for their hats.

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Scott pulled up in front of Ellie's Kitchen. Teresa had explained, at length, that Miss Ellie had offered to let them use the café for the suffrage meeting. Ellie was large and loud and made the best pies in the county. She told Teresa that if she could run her own business for twenty plus years, she could darn well figure out which crook to vote for, and the way she saw it, she should have the chance. Johnny smiled at that and thought she was probably right.

After they'd helped the ladies down, Scott went around and started to unload the pamphlets and flyers and the bundles of bunting that Teresa intended to use for decorations. Johnny stood on the boardwalk, one arm hooked around a post and studied the street.

"Johnny?"

"Huh?"

"Are you going to give me a hand here?"

"What?" Johnny turned around and finally focused on his brother.

"Were you planning on helping me get this stuff inside?" Scott was bent over the back of the surrey. He cocked his head toward his brother.

Johnny raised his hands, palms outward, and backed up a step. "Oh, I don't think so." He gave Scott his best innocent look. "Sam said I'm not supposed to do any lifting."

"Did Sam say anything about walking? Because you're going to be walking home if you don't cut it out." Scott shoved a basket and a bundle of bunting at his brother.

Johnny snickered and took the load. "All right, brother but when we're done, you're buying the first beer."

"I don't see what one has to do with the other." They disappeared into the cafe.

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Once they'd finished unloading the surrey and arranging the decorations to Teresa's satisfaction, Johnny walked out of the café and stood staring down the street again. Scott followed him.

"You ready for that drink, brother?"

Johnny swung around and grinned. "Boston, when you're buying, I'm always ready."

"I didn't say I was buying."

"Sure you did." Johnny slung an arm over Scott's shoulder and they walked off down the street toward the saloon.

Johnny entered the saloon first and hesitating a moment at the door.

Scott nudged him with his shoulder. "You get a table, I'll get the beer."

Scott paid for their drinks and walked back to the table, nodding in response to greetings from a couple of cowhands. He carried two mugs of beer in his hands and set one down in front of his brother.

Johnny looked up from where he sat, slouched in his seat, his hat sitting on the table beside him. He gave Scott a small smile. "Thanks." Then he went back to studying the wood grain on the grubby table.

Scott took a deep cool swallow of his beer and stretched his long legs out under the table. "You were hoping to see Naldo?" he asked.

Johnny glanced over. "Yeah," he said.

"He's probably halfway to Nevada by now. There isn't really any reason for him to hang around."

"Yeah, I know." Johnny drew random patterns in the condensation rings left by his beer glass. "I just wanted to check in case he was still here. Make sure he's OK, you know? Guess I'll have to go see Val. If Naldo's around, he'll know about it."

The batwing doors swung open and rattled back and forth as they admitted another customer. Johnny's gaze flicked up. He slowly sat upright, his hands resting softly on either side of the beer glass.

Scott looked up and frowned. He opened his mouth to ask a question when a voice cut across the buzz of conversation.

"Well, if it ain't the Lancer boys." Jigger Smith strolled over from the bar. "Johnny, boy, you come into town lookin' for that pet breed of yours?"

Johnny smiled a little but never looked up. "I sure as hell didn't come looking for you, Jigger." He ran one finger down the side of the glass. "I was sorta hoping that when I canned your sorry ass, I'd be done with you for good." He looked over at Scott. "It's too bad the way things work out sometimes, isn't it, brother?"

Scott nodded and took a pull on his beer. Someone in the crowd snickered. Jigger's face turned red.

"Well, maybe you'd better spend some time worrying about that friend a yours. He ain't done nothing but cause trouble since he hit this town. Course, being a breed, he probably just don't know how to behave around decent folks. Jigger walked up till he stood just behind Johnny's left shoulder. "But then, what can you expect when you're dealing with a mongrel. You'd know all about that wouldn't you, Lancer?"

Johnny took a sip of his beer and Jigger snarled.

"You pay attention when I'm talkin' to you, boy."

He reached out and grabbed Johnny's shoulder. Johnny exploded out of his chair. He threw the remnants of his beer with his right hand and followed it in with a smashing left that snapped Jigger's head back on his shoulders. Jigger landed flat on his back on the floor, surrounded by the pieces of a broken chair.

Johnny stood over him for a moment, tense and waiting. When Jigger stayed down he shook his head in disgust and turned back to the table. He set the glass down, grabbed his hat and strode toward the door.

Scott went down on one knee by Smith's side. Jigger was blinking his eyes and trying to catch his breath. Scott reached out and straightened the edges of the prone man's vest.

"Well now, Jigger," he said, "that makes one from Johnny and one from me. Seems like you don't come out too well when you mess with the Lancer boys. You might want to remember that the next time the spirit moves you." Scott patted him on the cheek, rose to his feet and followed his brother outside.

He found Johnny standing on the boardwalk, studying the street and absently rubbing his side.

"You OK?" he asked.

"What?" Johnny glanced over at him.

Scott nodded at Johnny's left side. "Did you pull those stitches?"

Johnny looked down as if he had just realized what he was doing. He studied his shirt, which was still white with no trace of red over the stitches. "Nah, looks OK. I don't think I broke any, just yanked on 'em pretty good." He looked back toward the saloon. "It was worth it."

"Come on," Scott said, "let's go find Val."

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Chapter 12

Val looked up when the door to his office swung open with a bang. Johnny and Scott walked in.

"Hey Crawford, don't you have anything better to do than sit around and shuffle papers?" Johnny grinned and hung his hat on a hook by the door. He walked over to Val's desk and poked at the flyers that covered the surface.

Val slapped his hand. "Quit that." He looked up with a frown. "Both of you at once, on a Saturday afternoon. What'd I do to deserve this?"

Johnny sat down and swung his feet up on the desk. "Must just be your lucky day." He tucked his hands into his belt and regarded Val with a crooked smile.

Val swatted at him with a stack of wanted posters that he'd been reading. "Get your damn feet off my desk, ya ingrate." He sat back and studied the younger Lancer. "Sam said you got yourself cut up a little. Ya don't look too much worse for wear."

Johnny shrugged. "Wasn't anything much."

Val glanced over at Scott who was leaning against the wall behind his brother. Scott shook his head and indicated a spot on his left side before he held his thumb and forefinger apart about four inches.

Val winced. "Damn, boy, you can't even stay out of trouble in your own back yard."

Johnny frowned. "Let it go, Val. It's just about healed up anyway."

Val gave him another hard look and then stood and walked over to the stove. "Either of you boys want some coffee?"

Scott shook his head vigorously.

"Hell," said Johnny, "I may be healin' but I'm not healthy enough to face that!"

"Very funny." Val brought his cup back and resumed his seat. "So, what brings you into town so early?"

"We drove Teresa in. She's setting up for a Women's Suffrage meeting tonight."

Val snorted and took a sip of his coffee. "It's about time."

Scott's head came up with a snap, his eyes wide with surprise.

"So you think it's a good idea?" Johnny asked.

"Damn right. Give those women the vote and just see how fast some of this stupid shit stops. They ain't about to put up with it. Why once they start votin', we'll all of us, end up downright civilized. You mark my words."

Johnny chuckled. "Old Scott doesn't really agree with you on that, but then, he seems more interested in the suffrage lady than he is in the cause."

"Oh yeah?" Val looked up, interested.

"Drop it, Val," Scott growled. "Didn't you have a question that you wanted to ask the sheriff, brother?"

Johnny glanced over his shoulder and snickered at his brother's discomfort before turning back to Val. "Yup, I wonder if you could tell me how a buddy of mine's doing. I figured that if he was anywhere around, you'd know all about it."

Val raised an eyebrow. "So who is it I'm supposed to know about?"

"He's a guy I used to run with when I was just a kid." Johnny glanced up. "Before Madrid. I ran into him again a couple of weeks ago. Gave him a job at Lancer but it didn't work out."

"Man got a name?"

"Yeah, Ramos, Renaldo Ramos. Goes by Naldo."

Val's looked down and rearranged a few papers before looking back up at Johnny. "So, he's a friend of yours?"

Johnny nodded, his expression cautious. "I take you know him?"

"He's been around all right. Been givin' me a headache for almost a week now. Since he's your buddy, maybe you can have a word with him. Get him settled down before I have to run him in."

Johnny sighed and ran a hand over his face. "What's he been up to?"

"His second night in town, somebody hit him over the head and cleaned him out. Since then he's been drinkin' and brawling, disturbing the peace, you name it." Val noticed that Scott was standing with his head down, not saying anything. "Course, I'm not sayin' it's been all his fault."

Johnny frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, that asshole, Jigger Smith, he's been pushin' and proddin' at Ramos. Won't give him no peace." He glared at Johnny. "You should have done something about that jackass a while back."

Scott snickered. He looked up at Val. "Johnny just laid him out on the floor of the Painted Lady."

"Humph, couldn't a happened to a nicer guy. Hope you had a good reason."

"Seemed like it to me." Johnny said.

" It don't matter one . . ."

Val's head came up and he was out of his seat before the echoes from the gunshot faded from the street. The sheriff was out the door and running down the boardwalk toward a growing knot of people, Scott and Johnny only a step behind him.

Seth Purdy, the solid and unflappable owner of the gun shop, was standing out in front of his store gazing down the street.

Val paused beside him. "What's going on, Seth?"

The gunsmith turned toward the sheriff, a worried look on his face. "Something happened at the Mercantile, Val. I think it's bad."

The three of them went on again, two more doors down to Sullivan's Mercantile where they had to push their way through a crowd of people blocking the door to the store.

"Get out of the way," Val shouted, shoving at the crowd, "Let me through."

The first thing they heard when they finally entered the store were the heartbroken sobs of Martha Sullivan. She sat on the floor, her husband's head cradled in her lap, his shirt and her hands, covered in blood.

Val took in the scene at a glance and grabbed Scott's arm. "See if you can find Sam. We're gonna need him, one way or the other."

Scott nodded and Val turned back toward the counter. "Martha," he said gently.

She looked up, her eyes dark and huge. "I don't understand," she whispered. "He was fine just a few minutes ago. He was laughing …." She looked at her scarlet covered hands. "I just went back to the store room for a minute and when I came back…" She began to sob.

"Did you see anyone, Martha?"

She shook her head slowly. "No," she moaned. "Help him, sheriff, please, please help him."

" Ya need to move over, Martha and let me . . ."

Becky Trevino slipped in beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," she said.

Becky knelt down next to the distraught woman and slid an arm around her shoulder. Martha immediately collapsed into a boneless heap against Becky's shoulder and broke out in a fresh spate of disconsolate tears.

"Shhhh," Becky whispered, stroking the older woman's hair. "It's all right. You can cry all you need to but we have to move back out of the way." She began to ease Martha up and away. "You just come with me, sweetie. We'll get you a nice cup of tea." The two women moved slowly to the other side of the room.

Val watched them go and then turned back to Liam Sullivan where he lay on the floor. Val took a deep breath and knelt over the body. He was just climbing back to his feet when Scott came rushing in.

"Sam's out on a call. We sent a rider for him but I don't know when he'll be back."

"Damn." Val brushed at the dust on his knees and looked down at the storekeeper. Two of the local women had taken over and were doing what they could for Liam. "I hope he hurries but between you and me, it don't look like there's much Sam can do anyway."

Scott walked over and joined Johnny where he leaned against the wall, out of the way.

"Any of you folks see what happened here?" Val asked. He turned to face the crowd of people that still packed the doorway and spilled out onto the boardwalk.

There was a low buzz of conversation and much head shaking but no answer. "I think Martha was the only other one in here at the time," said one of the men. "But it doesn't look like you're going to get anything out of her for a while."

Val snorted. "Well, if you ain't got anything more useful than that to contribute, why don't all you good folks go on about your business, and leave me to mine."

There was a low angry mutter at that statement but under the force of his glare, the crowd began to disperse. Val turned his back on them and was meticulously studying the area when a new voice cut through the noise.

"I saw who done it."

Jigger Smith pushed his way through the remaining people.

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Chapter 13

Jigger stood in the doorway, a smug look on his face and a spectacular bruise darkening his jaw line.

Val turned around and regarded the man with distaste. "You got something to say, Smith, or are you planning on waiting for a formal invite?"

"I don't need no invite to do my civic duty, sheriff. I'll tell you what I saw. It was that stinkin' breed, Naldo Ramos. He's the one what done it."

Johnny pushed away from the wall. Scott reached out and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Easy, brother."

"Did you see him shoot Liam?" asked Val.

Smith frowned. "No, but I heard the shot and I saw Ramos runnin' down the alley, away from the store."

Val gestured toward the side door. "You saw him come out the door there?"

"He was runnin' down the alley, where else do ya think he came from?"

Val scowled and his chin jutted forward. "Which way did he go?"

"He got to the end of the fence and went left, that's all I know." A sly little smile appeared on Smith's face and his eyes glittered as he glanced over at Johnny. "Of course that breed's such a real good friend of Johnny Lancer over there, maybe you all ought to ask him where he went."

"What are you trying to say, Jigger?" Scott asked. Johnny just glared.

"I'm not tryin' to say anything, just want to see justice done."

Johnny took a step forward and Val stopped him with a glance. "Jigger, I need you to come on over to the jail later and give a statement but for now, get the hell out of here." Val turned to the men in the doorway. "Ed, Clem, Paco, you know who we're talkin' about?"

The three men shared a look and a nod. "Yeah," Ed said, "We've seen him around."

"OK, one of you go to the livery and keep an eye out there. Stop by the stage depot on the way and tell them to look out for him. The other two set up on either end of town. Check any outbound freight wagons, buckboards or anything else he could slip out of town in. I'll start a search through the back alleys. And don't try to take him yourself if you can help it. Send somebody for me."

Johnny stepped forward. "We're coming with you."

Val nodded. "I was countin' on it."

The crowd started to disperse and Val called another man over. "Harry, as soon as they get Liam bandaged up, get some help to carry him upstairs. Then see that nobody else gets in here until I've had a chance to take a better look."

Harry nodded. Val and the Lancers left by the side door. They jogged down to the fence and stopped to look around.

Val stood with his hands on his hips. "You got any idea where he might have gone, Johnny?"

Johnny shook his head. "No idea. Damn, I can't believe he did it, Val. Not Naldo."

Scott frowned and Val gave him a speculative look. "Well," he said, "I guess we just start beating the bushes then." The three of them started down the alley, trying doors and peering into shadows and behind outbuildings.

They'd reached the nearest cross street, River Road, and paused to consider where to search next when a barrage of gunfire erupted from across the way, startling the crows from the top of the feed and grain store. They added their raucous cries to the assault of noise as they took flight.

"Shit," hissed Val as he grabbed his gun and sprinted toward the battle zone, Scott and Johnny hot on his heels. They pounded across the street and on down the alley, only slowing when they approached the nearest source of gunfire.

Val poked his head around the corner for a quick look. Not seeing anything he started forward just as a form turned, the sun glinting off a rising gun barrel.

Val ducked back behind the building, slamming into Johnny and Scott who were right behind him. He drew in a deep breath and then he scowled. "Shorty," he yelled, "you don't put that iron down right now, I'm gonna come in there and feed it to ya."

"Aw hell, Val," came a voice from around the corner, I didn't know it was you."

Val's eyes met Johnny's and he shook his head in disgust. The three of them slipped back around the corner and crabbed their way to Shorty's position. Gunshots continued to sound around them.

Shorty McLain looked up at them with a boozy grin. He was crouched behind come wooden boxes. "We've got him cornered for you, sheriff."

"Who's we," asked Val, "and where's this feller you're supposed to have cornered?"

Shorty blinked owlishly and scratched his head. "Was only Bingo, Ted n' me. We caught him all by ourselves." He grinned again. "We was sharin' a bottle in the saloon when Jigger come in and said we could have some fun."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" said Johnny.

"Huh?" Shorty asked.

"Never mind." Val reached out and recaptured the cowhand's attention. "Where's this feller hiding?"

"Oh," said Shorty with another bleary smile. He rose to his knees and pointed over the top of the boxes. "He's right ov…." A bullet tore into the wood not an inch from his chest. Val grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him back.

"Stay down, ya damn fool. Just tell me where he is."

Shorty rubbed his cheek where a splinter of wood had left a bleeding scratch. He appeared to have sobered up quite suddenly. "He's backed into that little hidey-hole by Carter's loading dock, in behind those barrels and boxes." He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb but stayed hunkered down behind the box.

Val took a quick look and then turned back to Shorty. "OK. Now get out of here. Haul your sorry ass back to the saloon. Quit shootin' up my town and let me do my job."

"Yes sir," said the subdued cowboy as he started back down the alley.

"And keep your damned head down."

Shorty flinched and scrunched down another two inches as he scuttled along the wall and around the corner.

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The three men shared a smile and then ducked themselves when another round plowed into the crates where they sheltered.

"That's one of 'em out of here," said Val, leaning back against the box. "I'm gonna stay put and keep our friend over there pinned down. You two circle around and see if you can find those other two idiots. I don't want to close in on Ramos, or whoever it is," he amended as Johnny gave him a dirty look, "until those two are out of the picture. And take care, if they're in the same shape as Shorty, the damn fools'll probably shoot at anything that moves."

"We'll be careful," Johnny said. "You watch yourself too and don't try to go after him till I'm back. If it is Naldo, I'll be the one to get him out."

"Yup. Just make it quick before somebody else decides to help."

Johnny nodded. He and Scott went back the way they'd come. Scott headed for the nearest source of gunfire while Johnny decided on a quick trip around the block, so he could come down the alley from the other end.

Scott tracked down his target easily enough. He came up behind him and kept to cover in case he got the same kind of greeting as Val. A quick look confirmed the man's identity.

"Hey Ted."

The man's head came up but he couldn't seem to pinpoint where the call was coming from.

"Ted," Scott repeated.

This time the cowboy turned and he peered up the alley.

"It's Scott Lancer. Hold your fire, I'm coming in."

Ted nodded and waved Scott in.

"What are you doing here?" Ted asked when Scott crouched down beside him. The cowboy went back to watching for his quarry. Scott winced when he lobbed another shot toward the loading dock. Ted might be more serious than Shorty but the smell of rotgut whiskey rolled off him in waves.

"I'm here with Val." Scott said.

"Yeah? That's good." Ted spared another glace at Scott.

"Maybe." Scott settled down with his back against a crate.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Val's sort of pissed."

"Why?" Ted sounded uncertain. Scott knew he'd had run-ins with Val before.

"Seems he's not too happy with all you unsolicited volunteers."

Ted just stared.

"Old Shorty almost drilled Val a new button hole a little earlier. Val chewed him up, spit him out and sent him back to the saloon. I'd walk real light around our esteemed sheriff right now, if I were you."

Ted looked back toward the loading dock. "Shorty's gone?"

"Yup."

Ted chewed on the thought for a minute. "Maybe I'd better go and make sure he's OK."

"Might be a good idea."

"You'll watch out and make sure that killer don't get away?"

"I'd be happy to," Scott said.

Ted nodded and with that, he was gone, leaving Scott to shake his head and roll his eyes heavenward. He checked out the area and then decided to slip along the edge of the buildings and see if Johnny needed a hand.

He'd just spotted his brother when another movement caught his eye. Just in front of Scott and crouched down behind a couple of barrels, Jigger Smith was also watching Johnny. As Scott crept closer, Jigger brought his gun up and lined it up on Johnny's back. He was just moving to cock it when Scott's pistol jabbed, none too gently, into the base of Jigger's skull.

His command to drop it was punctuated by the snick of his own pistol being cocked.

Jigger's hand opened and Scott snatched the weapon, almost taking Jigger's trigger finger along with it.

Jigger snarled out a curse and cradled his injured hand before glancing back at his assailant. "What the hell are you doing, Lancer?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question." Scott stepped back a pace.

"Shit, I was just watchin' your brother's back. Weren't no call for you to jump me like that." Jigger put his hand to his mouth and sucked on the sore knuckle.

"Yes, I saw you watching." Scott studied the man for a moment. "You know," he said, his voice was suddenly solicitous but his gun never wavered. "You're not looking well. In fact, I think you might have some serious health issues."

Jigger looked confused, but wary.

"I really think, Mr. Smith, that you should consider traveling for your health." Scott's voice hardened. "I think you should leave soon and make it a very long trip. With no return ticket."

Jigger opened his mouth to say something but Scott cut him off.

"You need to give some serious consideration to my advice, Smith. For right now though, you need to get the hell out of this alley and out of my sight, because if I see you again today, those health problems of yours are in danger of becoming acute, perhaps even fatal."

Jigger took a hard look at Scott's face and decided not to argue. He started down the alley but turned back after a few steps. "What about my gun?"

"I'll hand it over to Val. You can ask him for it later. Maybe he'll even give it to you."

Jigger frowned and walked away.

"Oh, and Jigger."

Smith looked back over his shoulder.

"If I ever see you pointing a gun at my brother again, I will kill you."

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Chapter 14

Johnny slipped in silently beside Val.

"Everything taken care of?" asked Val.

Johnny nodded. He took a quick peek over the tops of the crates before he crouched back down. "Yeah. I found Bingo easy enough. Soon as I told him that the other two were back at the saloon, drinking without him, he couldn't get out of there fast enough. Where's Scott? He should have been back before me."

"I haven't seen him but there hasn't been any shootin' for the last ten minutes or so."

Johnny took another look toward the loading dock and then relaxed as he turned and scanned the alley behind them. "Here he comes." Johnny reached up and reset his hat. "OK, I'm going to work my way around to that spot over there beside Old Man Greer's shed." Johnny gestured toward a rickety outbuilding across from their current position. Once I get there, you just leave it to me. If it's Naldo I'll get him out. If it's not, at least we'll have a good field of fire if we need it."

"Damn it, Johnny, what if what if your buddy don't like the idea of turnin' himself in?"

"If it's Naldo, I won't have anything to worry about. If it's not, I'll just keep my head down and the three of us will pry him out of there." With that Johnny turned and began to make his way toward the shed, moving smoothly and silently from one piece of cover to another.

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Scott knelt down next to Val just after Johnny left.

"What took ya so long?" groused Val, never taking his eyes off of Johnny as he ghosted along.

"I ran into Jigger Smith after I talked to Ted. I have to tell you, Val, if that bastard doesn't hit the road, and soon, somebody's likely to kill him."

Val flashed a quick look at Scott before he went back to watching Johnny working his way to a better position. "What do you mean by that?"

Scott recounted what had happened and gave Val the gun.

Val's lips drew down in a tight line but before he could say anything, Johnny reached his goal and waved back that he was ready.

"Do you think we can trust Ramos not to just shoot him as soon as he sees him?" Val jerked his chin toward Johnny.

"I don't know." Scott shifted position and rested his gun on the crate. "If it were me out there I'd say no, but Johnny? I don't know. But I don't like it."

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"Naldo," Johnny shouted. "It's me, Johnny. I want to come in and talk to you." Johnny took a step forward, out of the shelter of the shed. "Naldo?"

A bullet took a chunk out of the wood by his shoulder.

Val grabbed the back of Scott's belt and yanked him back down behind the crate. "Wait."

"Is he all right?"

"Just wait," Val said.

"Goddamnit, Naldo." Johnny yelled from the cover of the shed. "If you so much as point that thing in my direction again, I'm gonna come in there and beat the shit out of you."

"Johnny? Is that you?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Val and Scott both breathed a sigh of relief.

"We need to talk, Naldo. You gonna let me come on in?"

There was a long moment of hesitation before Naldo replied. "Yeah," he said, his voice less aggressive and more uncertain. "Come on."

Johnny came out into the open. He tipped his hat back off his head and walked toward the loading dock.

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"Naldo."

"Johnny." Naldo glanced up into Johnny's eyes and then looked away. He walked over and sat down on a barrel. "Uh, sorry about…." He lifted his gun and then lowered it again.

A small smile flitted across Johnny's face. "It's a good thing you were never very good with one of those. It'd be embarrassing to be shot with a gun that I gave you."

Naldo snorted softly and one corner of his mouth lifted but he still wouldn't meet Johnny's eyes.

"So." Johnny hitched his hip over one of the crates and crossed his arms. "What did you get yourself into?"

He didn't answer but seemed to draw in on himself. He ran a hand over his face.

"Naldo? You gonna tell me?"

Naldo drew in a deep breath. He stood and turned his back. "I didn't mean to do it, Johnny. I just needed some traveling money, I didn't want to hurt anybody."

Johnny sank back on the crate, a stricken look on his face.

Naldo dropped his head and sighed. "That damned old man, he grabbed at the gun and it went off." He lifted the gun and banged it against his head. "What am I gonna do?" His voice cracked and he turned back and finally looked into his friend's eyes.

They stared at one another for a moment before Johnny shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered. "We'll have to think of something. I….Damn, Naldo." Johnny sighed. "But right now, you need to give me that gun and we'll go over to the jail."

A look of panic passed over Naldo's face and his gun came back up. "I can't do that. I can't let them take me. They'll lock me away, Johnny."

Suddenly Johnny was mad. "Well you haven't left yourself a lot of choices here. You can either turn yourself in and give me some time to work something out or you can stay here and trade shots with the law until you kill somebody, or they kill you. You're backed into a corner, in more ways than one. And I have to tell you, if you plan on havin' a try at Val and Scott, you'll have to go through me first." He waited while that sunk in. "What's it gonna be, Naldo?"

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"What's taking so long?" Scott shifted position for the fourth time in as many minutes.

"Hasn't been that long." Val's eyes never left the spot where Johnny had disappeared into the crates and barrels.

Scott studied the lawman for a moment. "You worry about him as much as I do, don't you?"

Val snorted. "Where'd you get a damn fool notion like that?"

Silence stretched between them again and Scott went back to watching the shadows mark out the passing minutes, but a small smile curved his mouth.

Scott was checking his gun for the third time when he heard Val grunt. He looked up to see Johnny and Naldo walking toward them.

"Val."

"I see 'em." Val climbed to his feet but didn't holster his pistol.

Johnny had Naldo's gun shoved into the waistband of his pants. As they walked past he handed it off to the sheriff and kept on walking. No one said a word. Scott and Val fell in behind as they headed for the jail.

Their small caravan stopped pedestrians as they walked down the street and drew people out of shops and businesses. They gathered in small, huddled groups to whisper and stare. Johnny led the way as they walked across the street and into the sanctuary of the jail.

Val gave Scott his gun while he patted Naldo down. He removed the knife from Naldo's belt and took another from inside his right boot before taking him back and locking him in a cell. Johnny trailed behind. The cell door locked with a metallic snick. Val dropped a hand briefly on Johnny's shoulder before he walked back out to the front.

Johnny leaned against the wall and watched as Naldo prowled the eight by ten cell, his eyes darting from one thing to another. He sat down and tested the bed but stood again almost immediately and paced over to the window, his hands opening and closing and then rubbing up and down against his pants legs. He craned his neck for a quick look out through the bars before he strode to the far wall and then turned back toward the bunk, running his hand across the iron bars that lined the front of the cell. He grabbed the door as he passed it and gave it a quick and futile tug. Finally he sat back down on the cot, his eyes focused on his clasped hands, his elbows on his knees.

Johnny looked on silently as his friend's shoulders hunched and the muscles in his jaw bunched and quivered. Eventually, Naldo looked up. He tried for a small smile and shrugged.

Johnny shook his head. "Damn, Naldo, I'm sorry."

"What for?" He stood up, walked over to the bars and wrapped his hands around them. "You didn't do anything."

"I shouldn't have brought you back here. I should have stood up to Murdoch and kept you at the ranch. If I'd paid more attention I could have…."

"Stop it, Coyote. I'm not a little kid anymore that you need to take care of. Hell, you don't get to take credit for any of the good stuff I've ever done. Works the same with the bad stuff. My life. My decisions."

"Now that's scary."

"What?"

Johnny looked up and grinned. "You're starting to sound like Scott."

Naldo snorted. "I may be locked up but you're the one that's loco."

They stood there, separated by time and circumstance and the hard line of the law, at a loss for words, until Johnny pushed away from the wall.

"What say I go see if I can find us something to eat? It's way past lunch and pretty near past supper."

Naldo sighed. "Tell you the truth, I'm not real hungry. But, maybe a meal from that cantina you took me to will give me something else to think about." Johnny felt Naldo's eyes watching as he closed the door and left the cell block. A quick glance back through the barred window showed Naldo, seated on the bunk with his head in his hands.

Johnny told Val and Scott where he was going. Scott picked up his hat.

"You coming along?" Johnny asked.

"No, I thought I'd go down to Sadie's and let Teresa know what's been going on. She must be hearing all sorts of rumors."

Johnny nodded. They almost ran down Eddy Prentis, who did errands for the telegraph office, as they left.

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Chapter 15

Johnny walked in about thirty minutes later. Scott was already back.

Val looked up from the paper he was reading. "I thought you were going to bring back something to eat?"

Johnny stood at the window staring out at the town. "What? Oh, yeah, they're gonna bring it over when they get it done." He went back to his study of the street.

"Something wrong?" Val asked.

Johnny shrugged but didn't look around. "No. Maybe. I don't know. Something doesn't feel right out there tonight."

Scott met Val's eyes and raised an eyebrow. Val stood up and walked over to the window to take his own look.

Twilight was falling and shadows filled the doorways and alleyways. Slashes of golden light from some of the windows cut through the growing gloom and poured out onto the street. The usual Saturday night crowd was starting to filter into town. But nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, Val walked over to the gun rack, unlocked it, pulled down a couple of guns and proceeded to check the loads.

Their supper arrived and Johnny took his back to the cells to eat with Naldo. He came back just as Val opened the front door to let the cooler night air into the place. Tinny piano music from the saloons down the street drifted in with the breeze.

Val looked at the plates that Johnny put back on the tray. "Don't look like either of ya' ate much."

"Don't think either of us were real hungry." Johnny fiddled with the plates for a moment. "You heard anything about Liam?"

"Nope." Val took a sip of coffee. "They'll let us know as soon as there's something to report."

"Damn it, Val." Johnny dropped down into the chair in front of Val's desk, "What am I gonna do about this? You're the sheriff, you have any ideas?"

Val sighed. He sat down and picked up a bunch of papers. "You'd better get your mind around the fact that this might not be something that you can fix."

Scott looked up and frowned.

"I sent out a bunch of telegrams yesterday to do some checking on your friend back there. Eddy brought me these replies a little while ago. This isn't his first offense, Johnny." Val held up a sheaf of telegrams. "He's left a trail from here to the border. Little stuff mostly, petty theft, brawling, vagrancy." He picked one sheet out of the pile. "This one here's a little more serious. He's wanted for attempted murder down around La Jolla. Cut a man up real bad over something the feller said. Left him in an alley to bleed to death. But if Liam dies," Val looked up at his friend, "it'll be murder and they'll hang him. There won't be anything you can do about it."

Johnny ran his hand through his hair. He got up and walked over to the door and stood staring into the night.

Scott stood and walked over behind him. He leaned one hand against the door jam and studied the street. After a short wait he glanced at Johnny. "What do you say we get out of here for a while. We can go over to the livery and check the horses and then to the hotel and get a room. We'll stop by the Painted Lady on the way back?"

"Might not be a bad idea," said Val. "If there's anything brewing in town tonight, the saloon's the place to find out about it."

Johnny didn't say anything for a minute and then nodded. "We'll be back in a little bit, Val. You keep an eye out, OK?"

"Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs," the sheriff groused.

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The moon was almost fully risen by the time Scott and Johnny finished at the livery stable. It added an extra dimension to the night, as they walked down the street toward the hotel.

"It's been one hell of a day," said Scott.

Johnny snorted and nodded. "Ain't it the truth."

"One thing I don't understand though."

Johnny sighed. "There's just one thing you don't understand?"

"If Naldo was going to pull a robbery, why didn't he pick a better target? Why rob the store? Why not the bank or the stage office? The store never has that much money."

Johnny put his hands, palms down, against the hitching post in front of the hotel and leaned forward, his head hanging down. "Aw, hell, Scott," he said, rocking a little against his hands. "That's just Naldo. He'd never think to rob the bank." Johnny looked up at his brother. "He never dreamed that big."

Scott shook his head. "Come on, let's go get that room."

They walked into the hotel lobby. "Hello Rob." Scott greeted the clerk behind the desk. "It doesn't look like we're going to make it home tonight. Do you have a room for us?"

"Sure, Scott." Rob smiled. "We've got just the thing. Two beds, second floor in the back where it'll be a little quieter." He reached behind him and grabbed the key. "Just sign the register." He watched as Johnny signed the book. "You boys hear the news?"

"What news?" asked Scott, taking the pen from his brother.

Rob's cheerful face grew serious. "Liam Sullivan died."

Johnny's head came up. "When?"

"About an hour and a half ago."

"That's strange," said Scott. "We were over at Val's office waiting for them to bring us word. We never heard a thing."

Rob frowned and then leaned forward over the desk. "If you two are helping Val, you might want to get back over to the jail. There's been some real nasty talk floating around this town tonight."

"Son of a bitch," Johnny said. They turned and pounded out the door and back up the street.

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Chapter 16

Scott had longer legs but Johnny kept the lead as they ran back down the street. The light from Val's office formed a beacon as it bled out over the boardwalk and pooled in the dirt. Johnny grabbed a porch upright and swung himself up only to stop dead in the doorway. Scott almost ran into him.

Val's desk was pushed out of place; one of the drawers was splintered and broken. Papers were scattered everywhere. Chairs were overturned and the frying pan lay in the middle of the floor, the coffee that had filled it dripping away through cracks in the floorboards. One booted foot showed from the other side of the desk.

"Val!" Johnny skirted the desk and dropped to his knees beside the sheriff.

Val lay curled on his side, his gun still in his holster, and blood in a growing stain under his head.

Johnny called to his friend again as he looked hurriedly for any other wounds. He had just started to search for a pulse on the sheriff's neck when Val groaned and frowned and then fell silent again.

Johnny drew in a deep relieved breath and closed his eyes for a second. He looked up at Scott. "He keeps some towels in that cabinet over there. See if you can find something I can use to try to stop this bleeding."

Scott stood and moved to the cabinet.

"And, Scott?"

Scott looked back over his shoulder.

"Check in the back, will you?"

Their eyes met for a moment and Scott nodded. He tossed a bundle of towels at Johnny and headed for the door to the cellblock.

A minute later he was back. Johnny was using one of the towels to put pressure on the head wound. The sheriff was still out cold.

Scott crouched down across from his brother. "He's gone. The keys are right there in the lock. Looks like somebody took him."

Johnny shook his head and sighed. "Damn, I figured as much." He switched the sodden towel for a clean one. "At least they didn't string him up right there in the cell." He checked the makeshift bandage again. "I think this is working. The bleeding's almost stopped." He eased Val's head down until it rested on the cloth as he lay on the floor and then he straightened up and wiped his hands on the last clean towel.

"OK, I need you to stay here with Val while I go and try to find Sam. When I get back…."

Running footsteps were heard approaching from the street. Johnny's gun was out and covering the doorway and then holstered again before the newcomers had a chance to register the danger.

Rob, from the hotel, and Whiskey Bill, who did odd jobs around town, stood in the door gaping. "Damn," said Rob. "Is he all right?"

"Oh yeah, he's just dandy," Johnny snarled. "Does he look like he's all right?" He turned and walked away.

Scott looked up and shrugged. "We don't know how he is, Rob. Somebody clubbed him real good over the head and then took his prisoner."

"A lynch mob?" Rob asked.

"Looks that way."

Johnny turned back around. "Bill, go find Sam and bring him back here. If he's not at his office he might still be at the Sullivan's place."

Bill nodded and slipped out the door.

Johnny transferred his attention to Rob. "Can you stay with Val until Sam gets here?"

"Sure, Johnny, don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

Johnny nodded. "Thanks." He walked over to the gun rack. He tucked a spare Colt into his belt and grabbed a shotgun. "You comin'?" He looked over at Scott.

Scott stood up. "Do you have to ask?"

Johnny smiled and tossed over the 12 gauge. "Take care of him, Rob." The Lancer brothers walked out into the night.

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"So where do we look?" Scott broke open the shotgun and checked the load.

"I don't know. They couldn't have gotten too far, we weren't gone that long." Johnny looked up and down the street. "If they took him out of town, we'll never find them in time. I'm hoping they just dragged him off to some alley." He looked back up the street toward the saloons and the hotel and then he turned the other way. "Let's try this direction. There's not as much going on down here. Less chance of anybody breakin' in on their little party."

They split up and started down the street, Scott on one side and Johnny on the other. A few doors down they passed Ellie's Kitchen where Teresa's meeting was still in full swing. The further they went toward the edge of town, the darker and quieter it became. No businesses were open at this hour, nor were there many homes.

A loose shutter rattled in the errant breeze. The moon cast a pale illumination and nothing moved except for a mangy looking alley cat that started across the street but stopped and darted back under the boardwalk when it saw them.

They were almost to the edge of town when they noticed it. Voices rumbled and the red flicker of torchlight reflected off the side of a building. Scott crossed over to join Johnny and they eased up to the alley that ran between the lumberyard and an old barn that served as a warehouse.

Johnny took a look around the corner and then pulled back out of sight. "Damn." He tilted his head back against the clapboard wall. "There must be at least a dozen of them in there." He took another quick scan of the situation. "Looks like they're having a little argument."

He leaned back against the wall beside Scott for a moment and took a deep breath. "There's only one way to handle this. I'll go in and see if I can't figure out a way to delay 'em for a while, and you go and get some help."

"I'm not letting you go in there alone. We'll both go."

Johnny shook his head. "That's not gonna do any good. The two of us against twelve or thirteen of them? We'd just get our heads blown off and they'd hang Naldo anyway. No, we need some help. I'll go in and delay them. You go get help."

Scott started to say something but Johnny spoke first.

"If you've got a better idea, brother, I'm willing to listen, but as far as I can see, that's the best chance we have of pulling this off." The level of noise from inside the alley rose a notch. Johnny glanced that way and back to his brother. "We don't have a lot of time here."

Scott scowled and hefted the shotgun. He sighed in frustration. "OK, but you hold off as long as you can. And if it looks like it's going to get nasty, just back off. You may think you owe Naldo something but I refuse to lose a brother over this. Understood?"

Johnny smiled. "Yeah, I understand." He put a hand on Scott's shoulder and gave a shake before turning it into a little push. "Go," he said.

Scott nodded and turned back toward the lights and noise at the other end of town.

"And, Scott."

Scott looked back over his shoulder.

"Make it fast, will you?"

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Chapter 17

Scott went running back the way they had come, switching to the street so that the thunder of his feet on the boardwalk wouldn't alert the men in the alley. He wished he'd thought to leave the shotgun with Johnny.

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Meanwhile, Johnny slipped into the alleyway and began working his way toward the group gathered in back of the lumberyard. He moved carefully through the shadows, silent as a fish gliding through dark water. At the back of the store the yard opened out in front of him. He hunkered down behind a couple of boxes and took stock of the situation.

The building formed a ninety-degree angle, with the store and mill fronting on the street and lumber and supplies kept in the ell. The yard itself nestled in the angle of the building and was littered with crates, barrels, and stacks of wood waiting to be processed. That meant plenty of cover but, unfortunately, that worked for them as well as for him.

The men were drawn up in a tight group on the far side of the space. He couldn't hear what they were saying but from the attitude of the bodies and the broad gestures it appeared that some sort of disagreement was taking place. He smiled. Maybe they'd do him a favor and start shooting each other.

Another careful look netted him a glimpse of Naldo, kneeling on the ground at the back of the group, his hands tied in front of him and a rough gag shoved in his mouth. One man stood guard over him with his gun drawn.

Johnny dropped back down behind the boxes and drew a deep breath. Things weren't looking good but he thought he'd spotted the perfect place to make his stand. On the other side of the yard, about halfway down the long side of the building, there was a raised loading dock. It stood about three and a half feet above the level of the yard and had a stack of crates and barrels on one side. If he could get there undetected he'd have good cover, the high ground and the element of surprise. It was the undetected part that might be tricky. But, sitting here pondering on how to make the trip wasn't getting him any closer. Johnny took one more look at the mob, adjusted the spare gun and began making his way around the edge of the yard.

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Scott raced down the street, his mind moving faster than his flying feet. He was trying to figure out how to gather reinforcements and still get back to Johnny as soon as possible. Maybe if Val was awake by the time he got back to th…

"Scott?"

He was coming up on Ellie's place on the left and it was Teresa who had called to him. She was standing on the boardwalk in front of Ellie's Kitchen with Rowena and several other ladies. "Teresa," he shouted, "get back inside and stay there."

Almost anything could happen on a night like this and he hoped that she had listened to him. With that last thought he dismissed her from his mind. Right now he had other, more pressing things to worry about. He swung up onto the boardwalk and charged into the sheriff's office, praying that Val would be awake and in charge.

His prayers went unanswered and a very nervous Rob came within a whisker of putting an end to all of Scott's problems, right there.

"Whoa!" Scott threw his hands up and skidded to a halt. "Easy, Rob, it's only me."

Rob jerked his gun up to point at the ceiling before closing his eyes and blowing out a heavy breath. Then he rounded on Scott. "What's the matter with you? Don't you have brains enough not to come charging in here like that. Damn it, Scott, you got a death wish?"

Scott leaned over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking about that. All I could think about was getting back here to…." He looked up and really took in the scene in front of him for the first time. "Val hasn't awakened yet?"

Rob shook his head.

"And Sam hasn't been here?" Scott straightened up.

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of him or Bill."

"Damn." Scott slammed his fist down onto the desk. "Now what am I going to do?"

"What's going on, Scott?" Rob stood up. He had been kneeling on the floor by Val's side and he winced when his knees protested the movement.

"We found the vigilantes. They're down behind the lumber mill." Scott outlined the situation for Rob. "So Johnny's out there all alone," he finished, "and I need to get back there right now. I want you to go round up some help before all hell breaks loose."

"But I can't just leave Val stretched out here, all alone." Rob glanced down at the sheriff.

"I know." Scott brought a fisted hand up to tap against his chin and then thumped it back down on the desk. "What am I going to do?"

"Maybe we can help."

Scott spun around. Teresa and Rowena were standing in the doorway.

"What the, what are you two doing here? Didn't you hear me tell you to get inside and stay there?"

"We heard you." Teresa swept into the office and went immediately to Val's side.

"Fortunately, we didn't listen," said Rowena as she followed Teresa inside. She stopped in front of Scott. "As I understand it, you and," she nodded her head at Rob, "this gentleman have places you have to be but you can't leave the sheriff alone. So, Teresa and I will watch over Mr. Crawford until other help arrives which leaves you two free to stop wasting time and get on with your assignments. A perfect solution." She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him.

Scott glared at her for a second before he ran his hand over his face. "Murdoch's going to kill me," he muttered and shook his head. "You heard them, Rob." He glanced over at the hotel clerk. "Go round up some help and for God's sake, be quick about it. I'm going back to help Johnny."

Rob nodded and took off at a run.

Scott walked over to the gun rack and pulled down another shotgun. He walked back and presented it to Rowena. "Do you know how to use one of these?"

She took the gun, broke it open, checked the load and then closed it again with a snap. "Yes," she said, looking up at Scott. "I'm familiar with the weapon."

"Good, you close that door after I leave and if anyone who doesn't belong here tries to get in, you use that thing."

Rowena nodded decisively.

"Teresa, as soon as Sam or someone else trustworthy shows up, the two of you get right back to Ellie's. You understand?"

Both ladies nodded.

"Stop worrying about us and get back to Johnny." Teresa said.

"OK." Scott walked to the door but turned back to look at them again. He started to say something else . . .

"Go!" Teresa shouted.

Scott grinned. "Yes, Ma'am." He shut the door behind himself.

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Johnny had finally made it to the loading dock. His new position was less than twenty feet from the lynch mob. The entire group was still drawn up around two of its members. Johnny was glad to see it. If they hadn't been so busy listening to those two argue it would have been a lot harder for him to get to his spot. Once up on the dock, he could hear them clearly, and he could see them. Johnny's hand tightened on the grip of his gun. Jigger Smith stood in front of the group, his hands on his hips and a belligerent look on his face.

"You can't back out now, Harris. You're in this just the same as the rest of us."

Harris shook his head. "You shouldn't a hit Val like that Jigger. He's only doin' his job." The cowboy frowned and looked around at his friends. "This whole thing just don't feel right anymore."

The crowd shifted and a couple of voices murmured in agreement.

"What's the matter with you people?" Jigger snarled. "Don't you remember what we're out here for? How many of you were at Sullivan's store this afternoon?" He glared at the group of men. "Well, I was there. And I watched Liam Sullivan's widow lean over his dyin' body and cry her heart out."

There was an angry grumble at that statement.

"I watched that miserable bastard over there," he pointed to Naldo, "run away like a stinkin' coward after shooting Liam down in his own store. Now Liam's wife is a widow and his kids don't have a daddy. Liam won't ever draw another breath but that miserable breed, he's still breathin', he's still dirtying up our town by bein' alive. Isn't he?"

A chorus of agreement rose from the group.

"Do you think that's right?"

"No!" someone shouted and other voices joined in.

"Are we going to do something about it?"

"Yes!" they roared back at him.

Johnny closed his eyes for a second. The curtain was going up on this show and he sure hoped that Scott was on his way back with some help. He pulled his hat down a little lower on his head, took a deep breath and stood clear of the barrels and boxes.

"Evenin', boys," he said, his soft drawl pitched to carry out over the noisy mob. "Something going on here that I should know about?"

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Chapter 18

The mob shifted and bunched together at the sound of Johnny's voice.

Jigger spun around, his hand moving toward his holster.

The whisper of Johnny's gun clearing leather and the sound of the hammer locking back was penetrating in the sudden silence. "I wouldn't, Jigger. You touch that gun and it's gonna be the last thing you ever do."

Jigger licked his lips and looked back at the crowd behind him. The sight of them seemed to straighten his spine and he turned back around, regarding Johnny through narrowed eyes. "So," he said, "if it isn't one cold blooded killer come to rescue another."

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Scott took off back toward the edge of town but just a few doors down the street he stopped again and sprinted over to the other side.

"Sam, did Whiskey Bill find you?"

"Well, hello, Scott." Sam smiled at the older Lancer son. "And no, I haven't seen Bill at all tonight. Why?"

"Damn." Scott shook his head in frustration. "You're needed over at the sheriff's office. Somebody broke in and took Naldo out of his cell. They hit Val over the head and he's been unconscious for quite a while now." Scott turned to go but Sam reached out and caught his arm.

"Wait a minute, Scott, what…"

Scott shook his head and pulled his arm free. "I don't have time. Johnny's out there trying to hold off a dozen vigilantes all by himself. I have to go." He started back down the street but called back over his shoulder. "Val needs you, hurry!"

Sam watched him for a second before jogging across the street toward the sheriff's office.

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Johnny's eyes briefly caught Naldo's gaze and the panic he saw there twisted his gut. He pushed that away till later. He had other things to concentrate on right now.

He returned his attention to Jigger. "That's it, isn't it, Jigger? Right from the start this has been about you and me. You've just been using Naldo to get to me."

Jigger straightened up further and almost smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about, Madrid. The only thing going on here tonight is a little eye for an eye." He glanced behind him. "Ain't that right, boys? We're gonna make this world a better place, a place with one less breed stinkin' it up. We're gonna hang us a murderer."

"I wouldn't use that word so free if I was you. If you go through with this, if you hang that man tonight," he nodded his chin toward Naldo, "the wanted poster they'll put out on you is gonna say murder."

"Murder?" Jigger sneered. "The only murderer here is that half-breed pal of yours. This here ain't murder, it's justice." He glanced back and there was a growl of agreement from his friends. "Nobody's gonna call it murder."

"Maybe you won't, but the law will. You kill a man without the help of a judge and jury and murder is exactly what they call it." Johnny paused a moment. "Unless of course, it's self-defense." A cold little smile appeared on his lips and he holstered his gun. "You want me to show you how that works, Jigger?"

Jigger's eyes widened and he moved back a step.

"Didn't think so." Johnny said, his voice heavy with contempt. "A stand-up fight's not your style, is it?" He looked hard at the rest of the group. "You go through with this, boys, and they'll come for you. They'll come after every one of you."

"What do you say?" Johnny ignored Jigger and concentrated on the rest of the crowd. "Jigger here has his own reasons for this little party. How many of you are willing to die so that he can play the big man? You might want to give this some real thought, fellas, because I'm not planning on letting you get away with it. If you want to hang that man," he jerked his chin toward Naldo, "you're going to have to go through me to get it done." Johnny slowly drew his pistol and held it up. "I've got six slugs in this gun, plus a back up piece in my belt. There might be enough of you to take me down, but if you try it, at least half of you are going with me." He waited a moment and let them chew on that. "You know who I am, you know that's not an idle boast. It's a fact, boys, it's a cold, dead fact."

The crowd behind Jigger shifted again and murmured to itself.

"Don't let him buffalo you." Jigger shouted. "He's one man, just one against thirteen of us. And I don't care who he is, it only needs one bullet to take him out." Jigger glanced up with a sudden sly look on his face. "And when it comes to the law, well fellas, the only man that can connect any of you to this night's work is standing right there on that dock. If he's not around to testify, ain't none of us need to worry a bit about the law. You just think on that."

Johnny stood there, trying to look calm and totally in control. Jigger had just upped the ante and now it only remained to see if the rest of them would stay or fold.

His every nerve was quivering with readiness, he knew that the entire situation was balanced on a knife's edge and anything could tip it over into violence. He'd done all he could, now he could only wait.

His attention was focused on Jigger but from the corner of his eye he saw a figure at the back of the pack start to sidle off to the side in a flanking maneuver.

"Jed." The silence crackled and broke before his voice. "You can either throw that gun down and walk away or you can pull it and take your chances, but I wouldn't be doing any more movin' around like that. It's not healthy."

Jed froze where he stood and everything settled into one of those timeless moments of suspension, a powder keg, waiting for a spark.

Suddenly the hair on the back of Johnny's neck stirred. He kept his eyes on the crowd, not daring to release any of them from his gaze but he strained his other senses to try to determine what had changed.

The group of men, like a single creature, subtly shifted and Johnny drew a breath. He could feel their concentration breaking.

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Scott had arrived about five minutes earlier and had worked his way to a position that let him cover the back of the crowd. Johnny seemed to have the situation in hand so he'd kept quiet. He didn't want to upset the delicate balance that was keeping the yard from degenerating into a battleground. However, with Jigger's last statement, things had gotten considerably nastier. Scott drew a bead on the back of Jigger's head and was about to announce his presence when he heard a growing noise coming from the street. He didn't dare take his eyes off his target but he sent up a prayer that it was the help he'd been waiting for and not another bunch of vigilantes.

What the hell Scott thought, a few seconds later, those weren't… that sounded like… He turned around just in time to see the vanguard of the oncoming force swing around the corner and start down the alley, lanterns and torches in their hands, their skirts swinging in time to The Battle Hymn of the Republic, which they started to sing with martial fervor.

Scott stood up, abandoning his cover. He watched with absolute shock as the ladies from the suffrage meeting marched into the yard, Teresa and Rowena in the lead.

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Some of the men at the back of the crowd started looking over their shoulders. A blossoming glow of torchlight spilled out of the alley, chasing wild shadows across the yard. "What the hell?" someone said and suddenly the sound of singing filled the space.

Johnny hadn't looked yet but now he took a quick step back under cover and turned. For the first time that he could remember, he found himself totally frozen, awestruck by the sight before him. He watched as an army of women spilled out of the alley and plowed into what had been, just a moment before, a dangerous and volatile mob.

He saw Miss Ellie, all five foot, eleven inches and two hundred pounds of her descend on her hundred and fifty pound brother-in-law. She grabbed him by the ear, jerked him up on his toes and proceeded to haul him out of the yard, reading to him from the book, every step of the way.

The Widow Brown, who was considered the sweetest old lady in town, had two cowhands backed up against a pile of crates. Johnny couldn't hear what she was saying but the men had their hats in their hands and their eyes on the ground as they abjectly listened.

Sancho Ramirez sobered up fast when he saw his beautiful new bride among the female brigade. He hurried over and bundled her up and away from what had been such a dangerous situation.

All over the yard similar vignettes were being played out. Johnny was tempted to break out in laughter until he noticed Teresa down among the participants. He felt his heart lurch and the color drain out of his face as he leapt down and began pushing and shoving his way to her side. Murdoch is going to kill me, he thought.

Johnny and Scott reached Teresa at the same time. Johnny pulled her away from a confrontation with a young and very drunken puncher and whirled her into Scott's arms. He spun back, grabbed the cowhand by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward. All of the frustration and anger of the day bubbled up inside him. "Listen," he hissed, "this has been one miserable night. I am not happy. In fact, I'm just dying to hurt somebody. If you're not out of my sight in ten seconds, you're elected. Got it?"

The boy just nodded, his jaw slack and his eyes as big as saucers. He was released with a shove that sent him staggering back. When he found his balance, he took one more terrified look, spun on his heel and raced for the darkness.

Johnny turned to Scott. "Damn it, this wasn't what I meant when I asked you to go for help. What the hell were you thinking about?"

"Hey," Scott held his hands up in front of him, "this entire fiasco certainly wasn't my idea."

They frowned at one another for a long beat and then turned to face Teresa. She merely smiled and shrugged. "But it worked," she said before she walked off toward the disintegrating mob.

Johnny started after her but stopped suddenly. "Where's Jigger?" He looked around wildly. "Scott, go after her. Keep her safe. I have to find out what happened to Naldo."

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Chapter 19

Scott trudged across the yard, following after Teresa and feeling like he'd been run over by a stagecoach. He remembered this feeling from the war. The letdown that followed a battle was always like this. You'd think you'd be happy, but it didn't work that way. When the excitement drained away it left you feeling limp and depleted.

Teresa paused to talk to one of the ladies and Scott stopped and waited. He looked around at the yard, now filled with suffrage ladies instead of drunken vigilantes. Most of them had slunk away at the first opportunity. Scott snorted. There were going to be some very unhappy cowboys come tomorrow morning when they realized what they'd done. There had been a few nasty customers in that bunch but most of them were just kids. They'd come to town looking to get drunk and find some excitement. Scott figured that they'd found more than they bargained for, especially if Val decided to come after them.

He was just wondering how Val was doing when a flash of color caught his eye. Mrs. Matthews was standing by herself, just off to his left. Scott felt a sudden rush of anger and he stalked over to her.

"Didn't I tell you and Teresa to stay inside, off the street?"

Rowena turned around. Her eyes sparkled in the torchlight and excitement painted her cheekbones a glowing pink. Tendrils of auburn hair had come free of their restraints and floated in the night air, tickling her brow and cheeks.

"Scott," she smiled and pushed the hair back off her forehead. "Are you all right? Is Johnny all right?"

"Yes, we're just fine, thank you." His frown didn't abate. "But you didn't answer my question."

The smile faded from her lips and the sparkle in her eyes hardened to a glitter. She stood taller. "Yes, Mr. Lancer, you did indeed say just that. But in case you hadn't noticed, the purpose of our gathering at Ellie's tonight was to talk about becoming participants in this great government of ours. I, for one, have always thought that such participation comes with a responsibility to uphold and defend the laws of that government. Apparently the other ladies of this town think the same thing. They, all of them without exception, chose to back up their words with actions. They were willing to put themselves between the law and that element which sought to make a mockery of it. That seems to me to be the very soul of good citizenship and I would think it would be an action worthy of praise, not condemnation." She ended her speech with a firm nod of her head and a raised eyebrow.

Scott stared at her, his scowl still in place. He drew in a breath to say something and stopped. His frown changed to a look of puzzlement and he dropped his head for a moment. When he lifted it, there was a tentative smile replacing the frown.

"Mrs. Matthews, I do believe that you are right. I also think that I may have underestimated you."

She stared at him for a moment and then began to smile. "I believe, Mr. Lancer, that you may well have done so."

Scott really smiled for the first time that evening. "Perhaps we could get together later and discuss it?"

Her smile deepened. "That sounds like a very good idea. There is so very much that we might find to…. discuss."

"Yes." His voice had lowered and roughened. "But," he said, the frown returning, "not now." He looked around the alley. "This isn't over and I have to find my brother." He looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry."

She sighed and shrugged a little. "As I said, there is a duty that comes with citizenship. Go do your duty, Mr. Lancer, and when it's done, we shall see." The sparkle had returned to her eyes.

Scott reached out and took her hand. "To later," he said, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Later," she whispered.

He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Right now, let's go collect Teresa and get the two of you settled for the night. Then I can go find Johnny."

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They ended up back at the sheriff's office. Teresa had insisted that they find out how Val Crawford was doing.

The ladies were in the first cell with Sam, caring for Val, and Scott was sitting in the front office drinking a freshly brewed cup of coffee, when the door opened and Johnny walked in. Scott raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Well, brother?"

Johnny shook his head. "Nothing. No sign of either of them. I've got somebody at the livery and men at either end of town but so far, I haven't caught sight of Naldo or Jigger."

Johnny looked about the way that Scott had felt an hour ago. He walked over to the stove and eyed the coffeepot. "You make this?"

Scott smiled. "Teresa did."

"Even better." Johnny poured a cup. "How's Val?"

"They put him to bed back in one of the cells. He got one heck of a crack on the head, but he came to a little while ago and seemed coherent. Sam thinks he'll be all right."

Johnny nodded and took a sip of his coffee. He put his head back and rolled it from side to side, trying to loosen tight muscles. "Think I'll go back and see for myself and then I'll go back out and keep looking."

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"Hey, buddy, how you doing?" Johnny crouched down next to the bunk and reached out to straighten the cloth covering his friend's eyes and forehead.

Val's head jerked toward the familiar voice. "Did you stop 'em?" He pulled off the cloth and then he winced.

"Yeah, we stopped 'em." Johnny slapped Val's hand. "Leave that where it is and the light won't hurt you." He put the cloth back in place. "Actually, we didn't stop 'em but they got stopped just the same. I'll tell you all about that once your eyes uncross. Meanwhile, you just lay here and do what Sam tells you to do."

"You get Ramos back?"

Johnny dropped his head and adjusted his hat. "No, not yet. He got away from me. Jigger's still out there too. I'm going back out to look for them right now. I just wanted to stop in here and make sure you were behaving yourself." He squeezed Val's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll get 'em."

"You be careful." Val once again fumbled for the cloth covering his eyes.

Johnny batted his hand away. "Damn it, Val, leave it be."

"Will you listen to me," Crawford insisted. "You be careful. That Jigger is one sneaky son of a bitch. He's a back shooter if I ever saw one."

Johnny snorted. "Tell me something I don't know. Don't worry, I'll watch out for him. We've got an appointment, him and me. He just don't know it yet."

"What in hell is that supposed to mean?" Val tried to sit up but hissed in pain and grabbed his head before falling back to the pillow with a groan.

Johnny stood and shook his head. "Hey, Sam, maybe if you hit him over the head again, it'd keep him still long enough to recover a little."

Sam glared at him as he moved to sit on the edge of Val's cot. "Thank you for the medical advice." He changed the cloth for a fresh cool one. "But I think I'll stick to my own methods for now."

Johnny smiled and turned. His spurs chimed as he walked out of the cell.

Scott leaned over the bed. "Don't worry, Val. I'll keep an eye on him." He followed his brother into the night.

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Chapter 20

Johnny looked back in surprise when Scott followed him out onto the boardwalk. "Who's watching out for the ladies?"

"Sam said he'd keep an eye on them."

Johnny nodded and looked back at the street. "How do you want to handle this? We could split up, you take one end of town and I'll take the other."

"I'd rather we stayed together."

Johnny shrugged. "So, where do we start?"

"You're asking me?" Scott said. "I don't have any idea."

Johnny snorted. "Me neither." He looked both ways and stepped down off the boardwalk. "OK, let's…."

Gunfire exploded into the night.

"Shit!" Johnny took off, pulling his hat down tight as he ran and drawing his gun.

Scott sprinted after him.

They got about halfway down the street when Johnny threw up his hand and ducked in close to the building. Scott followed him in and bent over, trying to get his breath.

"What . . .?" he started to say.

"Shhh, listen."

The noises coming from the alley were not what Scott expected to hear. Slurred whispers and a drunken giggle caused him to look at Johnny, who held up two fingers.

"There's just two of them."

Suddenly there was an angry yowl from inside the lane and a black and white cat streaked out of the darkness, crossed the street and disappeared under the boardwalk. A couple of shots kicked up dirt in the cat's wake and another burst of drunken laughter followed.

The thud of running feet announced that shots weren't the only thing following the cat out of the alley.

As the first one came pounding by, Johnny reached out and snagged his arm, swung him around and slammed him into the wall. Scott took care of his companion.

Johnny stepped back and watched as the two of them pulled themselves together. "What the hell do you boys think you're doing?" he asked.

The redhead winced and then peered up at Johnny. "We're lookin' to collect the reward on that escaped killer, right Pete?" He looked over at his companion who was slowly sliding down the wall.

Pete giggled as his butt hit the boardwalk. "Yeah," he said, just before his eyelids slammed shut.

Johnny cocked his head, "What reward?"

"Jigger Smith said there was a reward."

Johnny slammed his hand against the porch support. "Damn. You crazy jackasses, there is no reward. And you're not out on the range where there's nothing around but gophers and grass. You're in town you jackass. People live here, they sleep here. You're gonna end up shooting somebody in their own bed."

"No reward?" Pete asked mournfully.

"No," said Scott, jerking him to his feet.

"Shuck your guns," Johnny ordered, "and give 'em to me. And be careful how you do it."

They started to protest but one look at Johnny's face had them unbuckling their guns and handing them over.

Johnny collected the belts.

Scott glared at the cowboys. "Now get on home and count yourselves lucky that you didn't get in real trouble. You can pick these up at the sheriff's office the next time you're in town."

The two men staggered off. Scott stood and watched them go with his hands on his hips.

Johnny dumped the gun belts by the water trough and Scott raised an eyebrow.

Johnny shrugged. "If they're still there tomorrow morning we'll pick 'em up and take 'em down to Val's office." He drew in a deep breath. "This is going to be a long night."

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Twice more that night they rousted out drunken cowhands prowling through the darkness, looking for some excitement and a non-existent reward.

Dawn was starting to lighten the sky. Scott rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up tight muscles. He glanced over at his brother. Johnny looked tired and he was rubbing his side. Scott remembered that he was still recovering. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Johnny leaned back against the building wall and closed his eyes. "I'd be doing better if we'd found him."

"You think he got away?"

Johnny sighed and ran his hand over his face. He was about to answer when a series of shouts and the crash of wood falling and splintering somewhere just to the north of them broke the morning silence.

Johnny snapped upright and his eyes met Scott's. "No." he said and they were off running again.

They were still running when shots were fired, not too far from their position. They both dove for cover.

"You see anything?" Scott called.

Johnny popped up to take a look and then dropped down again. "Not yet. I think they're farther on down." He took another quick look. "Cover me," he said and he was up and zigzagging down the alley.

"Johnny!" Scott called but gave up. He shook his head. All he could do was watch his brother's back as he moved toward another bit of cover. "I swear," Scott muttered, "if he lives long enough, I'm going to kill him."

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Johnny went to ground behind a rain barrel and watched as Scott moved forward to back him up.

The rear of the buildings was a jumble of sheds, outhouses and piled up trash. It was a good place to find cover but a bad place to be stalking an enemy. They both continued to move forward, taking care but advancing as fast as they could. They could hear someone moving around ahead of them but there was no more shouting or shooting.

They were just coming up behind the millinery store when they caught sight of a figure darting into the shelter of a shed. In the half-light it was hard to tell who it was.

Then a voice shouted "I see him," and gunfire broke out.

Johnny saw the figure by the shed make a move, stumble and half fall before throwing himself back toward the shelter of the outbuilding. From his position he could see the gunmen. He darted forward and tackled the nearest one. They rolled to a stop and Johnny stood up, the other man's gun in his hand.

"Geese, Johnny, what the hell was that all about?" Georgie LeMay lay on his back in the dirt. He was one of the Circle T hands and played poker regularly with the Lancer brothers.

"I'm just trying to keep everyone here alive till morning." Johnny stood over him, unloading Georgie's gun. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"We're after that reward and you'd better not try to get in our way." Gunner Wallenstein, Georgie's saddle pal, came out of the shadows, his gun drawn.

Johnny gave him one look and then ignored him. He threw Georgie's gun back into the alley. "Set 'em straight and then get 'em out of here, will you, Scott. I'm going to check on Naldo."

Johnny started back toward the shed.

"Johnny," Scott called. "Be careful, I think he was hit."

Johnny nodded but kept on walking. "Naldo, it's me, Johnny. I'm coming in."

"Stay back." Naldo's voice came from the shed.

Naldo's voice was thin and empty. The vague figure that Johnny could see inside the shed was hunched over and sagging against the peeling boards.

"It's OK. I got rid of those cowboys, it's just me now."

"I heard you the first time. Just back off, Johnny, and leave me alone."

"I can't do that, Naldo." The light was brightening and Johnny could just make out his friend, sheltered in the doorway of the ramshackle refuge. The door was missing and Naldo held his gun in one hand and the other was clamped over the bleeding wound in his thigh. His eyes were wide and darting.

"How bad is it?" Johnny asked.

Naldo looked down and grimaced. "Looks like I'm done running, Coyote."

"Let me take a look and then we'll get Sam to fix you up." He started across the empty space when the roar of a .45 caliber handgun scattered the dawn chorus of birds, a small geyser of dirt sprayed across Johnny's boots.

Johnny's gun was in his hand before he even had time to think about it. He stopped in his tracks. "What the hell…"

"Johnny," Scott called. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Scott," he shouted over his shoulder. "I'm fine, just keep everybody away from here." He turned back toward the shed. "Damn it, Naldo, what do you think you're doing?" He took another step forward but stopped again when another shot dug a furrow in the earth by his foot.

"Stay back, Johnny. I mean it this time. I'm not going back with you."

"Naldo," Johnny said softly, "you don't have a lot of choice here."

"Hell, Coyote." A small sad smile flickered across his face. "Man's always got a choice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I'm not going to hang."

Johnny's eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed. "Damn it, Naldo, cut that out. Don't you give up on me now." Johnny holstered his gun.

Naldo's own gun wavered and he stared into Johnny's eyes. His mouth opened to say something but the words wouldn't come. He pulled in a shuddering breath and groaned. "What do you want from me?" he shouted. "I went back with you once, I let the law have its way and what did it get me? The good folks of your town tried to hang me and ran me through the streets all night like a rabid dog. Look around, Johnny, there ain't no way out for me. Not this time. I'm done. It's gonna end here, in this stinkin' alley with the rats and the rest of the garbage."

"No, we'll think of something, Naldo. I'll think of something."

"What? You gonna break me out of jail? Help me cheat the hangman?" His voice was ragged and savage. "You going to give up your big ol' ranch and your fancy house and your brand new respectable family just to save me? Well thank you, Johnny Lancer, big man all the way around."

He shook his head then and sighed. "Aw hell, Coyote," he said. "How many times do you have to save me before you figure it out. Some men, you just can't save, no matter how hard you try."

"Don't do this, Naldo. Please. We can . . ."

"No. It's over." He smiled, a small sad smile. "I'm gonna miss you, amigo. You were one of the few good things that ever happened to me. Only one more favor I need from you." He took a staggering step forward, out of the doorway.

Johnny shook his head. "I won't do it, Naldo. You'll have to kill me first."

"You think so?" Naldo smiled again. "Goodby Coyote," he whispered. His gun came up and he cocked the hammer. Johnny just stared at him. Then Naldo turned away. He turned toward the entrance to the alley. He turned toward where Scott was standing. His finger tightened on the trigger.

"NO!" Johnny screamed as he drew his gun and fired.

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Chapter 21

Scott was trying to look two ways at once. He was riding herd on a small pack of hungry-eyed townspeople when he really wanted to be watching his brother's back.

He'd be happy to let this bunch take their chances with stray bullets, but left to themselves they'd doubtless push in and cause trouble. Johnny didn't need distractions right now. So Scott was stuck, angry, and worried.

He looked back over his shoulder when Johnny shouted only to duck behind a spindly tree when gunfire erupted behind him. Drawing his gun, he risked a quick glance down the alley, and then a longer look.

"Damn."

He stepped away from the tree.

Naldo was down, on his back, arms and legs spread in an untidy sprawl. Johnny stood over him, smoke wisping from the barrel of his gun like the shadow of an escaping ghost. Scott watched as his brother dropped to his knees, the Colt falling unnoticed to the dirt. Johnny knelt there, slumped on the ground as though he meant to become a part of it. He reached out and closed the sightless eyes and then sank down and tenderly lifted the dark head into his lap.

"Damn," Scott whispered again. He could hear the murmur of his brother's voice but couldn't make out the words.

He started forward but turned with a snarl when he heard the rhythm of running feet approaching from the street. No curious meddler was going to bother Johnny now.

The gaggle of bystanders had run for cover at the first sound of gunfire, and were only now poking their noses out, but Val Crawford was running down the middle of the alley. He wove from side to side and looked like hell, but he was on his feet with a gun in his hand.

"Wait, Val." Scott motioned him to a halt.

Crawford raised an enquiring eyebrow.

Scott nodded toward the scene in front of the shed. "Give him a minute, will you?"

Val looked past Scott and cursed in some language Scott couldn't name. He holstered his gun. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I was trying to keep them away." He nodded toward the rubberneckers who were back and trying to get a look. "A bullet tore by so close I could taste the cordite and I ducked. When I stuck my head out to look. . ." He jerked his chin toward the shed. "Can you keep these idiots back? I want to make sure he's OK."

Val glared at the growing crowd of curious citizens, circling in like vultures, pecking and jostling for position. "I can do better than that." He stalked toward the crowd.

"Git!" He shouted. "Go on home, all o' you. There's nothin' here you need to gawk at." He swatted at them with his hat. "If any of you are still standin' here in thirty seconds I'm gonna throw you in jail, and the way my head's poundin', I'm likely to forget you're there till some time next week."

Scott left the vultures in Val's capable hands and walked slowly to where Johnny sat in the dirt. His head was down. The rising sun gilded the rim of his Stetson and slashed a line down his cheek but under the brim of his hat, his eyes were hidden by shadow.

"Johnny?"

He didn't stir but a subtle shift in the fabric over his shoulders spoke of tightening muscle.

"Johnny," Scott began again.

"Do me a favor, Scott," Johnny murmured. "Go over to the undertaker's and get him to come take care of Naldo." One hand rubbed gently against his friend's arm before it fisted tightly into the worn cotton of his shirt. "I don't want him layin' here in the dirt. I want him out of this fuckin' alley."

He finally lifted his eyes to where Scott stood. "Can you do that? Please?"

His eyes, in the unforgiving light, were cold and clear, and utterly hopeless. Scott felt something twist and tighten in his own gut. "Sure. I'll take care of it."

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Val watched until all the bystanders had dispersed before he walked over to Johnny.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

Johnny barely nodded in response. "What now, Val?"

"What do you mean?"

"You got your prisoner back." He smoothed down the edge of Naldo's collar. "What are you going to do about the other one?"

"Jigger?"

"Yeah, Jigger."

Val could see a muscle in the side of Johnny's jaw bunch and quiver.

"Naldo'd still be safe in jail if it weren't for that cobarde. Hell, he'd still be working at the ranch." He glanced up at Val. "You wouldn't be staggering around looking like death warmed over and Liam would still be overcharging for pickles. And I wouldn't be. . ." He swallowed and started again. "You can trace this whole mess back to Jigger Smith. I want to know what you're going to do about him."

Val scratched his ear and then ran his hand over his face. "I don't know as how there's much I can do about him."

Johnny's hands slowly curled into fists. "You want to lay that out for me?"

"I don't recall seein' who hit me or who broke Ramos out of jail. We might get him for attempted murder with the lynching but he'd probably just claim they'd caught the prisoner and were trying to bring him back."

"I heard them, Val. . ."

"Yeah, and you're a friend of the victim. How's that gonna play?"

They stared at each other for a minute before Val looked away. "We might put him away for a few months, maybe a year, but I can't promise any better than that."

The jingle of harness broke up the conversation as the undertaker's wagon turned into the alley.

Johnny gently laid Naldo's head back onto the dirt and rose to his feet as Old Man Gearing and his son-in-law jumped down from the wagon.

Scott walked over and put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. There was no response to that gesture of comfort as the undertakers loaded Naldo's body into the wagon.

Johnny started to follow them when Scott called him back.

"Johnny," he said as he bent down to pick something up off the ground. "You forgot this."

Val watched as Johnny stared at the gun in Scott's hand. He seemed frozen in place, his shirt stained with the blood of a friend and his expression stricken, as if Scott were offering him an angry snake. Then as Val watched, another look flickered across Johnny's face and something changed in his eyes. He stepped forward and took the Colt, broke it open, reloaded and holstered it. "Thanks," he said. Something in his voice set off alarm bells in Val's head.

He started forward when one of those alarm bells turned into a molten spike that stabbed down through his brain. The world tipped sideways on him. There were shouts somewhere in the distance before the jolt of his shoulder hitting the ground exploded behind his eyes and darkness followed.

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The next thing Val knew was the comforting feel of a cool damp cloth covering his eyes. He was just starting to relax when someone removed it and he found himself staring up at the ceiling of one of his own jail cells. He groaned and tried to focus.

Sam Jenkins was leaning over him, fussing as usual. "I told you to stay in bed and rest, didn't I? Why is it," he asked as he peered into Val's eyes, "that none of you will listen to me?"

Val tuned him out and tried to remember. There was something he needed to do. The sight of Scott Lancer carrying a bowl and some towels into the cell brought it back.

"Where's Johnny?" he asked.

"Just lie back and relax." Sam put a hand on his chest.

Val pushed Sam's hand aside and caught Scott's eye. "Where is he?"

Scott put the bowl down by the cot. "Take it easy, Val. He went with Mr. Gearing to take care of Naldo."

"Go find him, Scott." Val tried to sit up but sank back down with a groan. "Keep an eye on him, he'll . . ." He groaned again and couldn't keep the world from fading out on him once more.

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Chapter 22

Jigger came out of the boarding house, his saddlebags thrown over his shoulder and two friends at his side. It hadn't been hard to find him, not in the bright light of day. Johnny watched as he threw the bags over the back of his saddle and turned to have a word with his buddies.

Johnny stepped out of the shadows as he crossed the boardwalk. But his thoughts wanted no part of the light, they lingered in the dark. "Going somewhere, Jigger?" he asked.

Jigger jumped and then glanced at his friends. When he turned back to Johnny he'd dredged up some belligerence. "I was planning on it. What's it to you?"

Johnny pulled his hat down to shade his eyes and kept his tone lazy, almost indifferent. "Val Crawford might want to talk to you."

"You planning on taking me in?"

Johnny shrugged. "Not my business. Val wants you, he'll find you." He set his shoulder against the porch upright and leaned back. "Provided you're still around."

Jigger's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Doesn't mean anything," Johnny drawled. It amused him to see the tension in Jigger's shoulders ease marginally. "Or maybe it means everything." He watched in satisfaction as Jigger's eyes widened and he backed up a step.

Johnny looked down at his hand and began picking at a spot on his finger. "Can't say I blame you for wanting to leave. We sure have had a bad time around here lately."

Jigger swallowed.

"I mean, Brody broke his arm, Naldo got beat up and robbed, Liam , well he got dead. Somebody broke into Val's jail and busted his head, now Naldo's dead too. Just a whole lot of bad stuff going on."

Johnny looked up. He could almost feel his gaze slice through Jigger's failing courage. "The way I figure it, most of that shit would never have happened if it weren't for you. Just doesn't seem fair, does it? All that hurtin', and you're getting set to just ride away, free as a bird?" He smiled and shook his head. "But then, life isn't always fair."

Jigger started to say something but Johnny cut him off.

"Nope, not fair at all. One minute you're walking around with the sun on your shoulders, the next, you're six feet under and you'll never see the sun again."

Johnny smiled as Jigger shivered.

"Can happen real sudden too." Johnny noted the sweat beading up on Jigger's upper lip. "Mostly you never even see it coming."

Jigger swallowed again. He backed another step and came up against his horse.

"But one thing's for sure," Johnny's voice hardened. "You're gonna see me coming. You can count on that."

Johnny watched all the color wash out of Jigger's face.

"What's the matter, Jigger? You don't look happy." Johnny leaned forward. "You one of those fellas that don't like suspense? Maybe you'd rather get this over with right now?" He pushed away from the post and stepped down into the street. "What do you say, cobarde, you want to dance?"

Jigger shook his head, his hands conspicuously far from his gun.

"I didn't do nothing to deserve this."

"The hell you didn't. And what you didn't do, you got someone else to do for you."

"You can't prove any of that."

Johnny stalked forward another step or two, pushing Jigger farther back against his restless animal. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the law. I don't have to prove anything."

Jigger licked his lips. "I didn't do all of that stuff."

"Bullshit," Johnny said in a voice that dripped with contempt.

"Are you callin' me a liar?" Jigger looked around desperately.

"I'm calling you a liar, and a thief and a crawling on his belly coward. I can't make it much clearer than that. What are you going to do about it?"

Jigger glanced toward his buddies who were standing to one side. "Come on, boys. The three of us can take him."

The pair hesitated. The tallest of them glanced at Johnny and finally spit on the ground. "I'm startin' to think you ain't worth the trouble, Jigger." The pair of them backed off and walked across the street.

Johnny watched them go and then turned back to his prey. "What's the matter? Don't feel like such a big man? Well, get used to it. If you walk away now, by next week there won't be anybody this side of the Rockies that won't know what a stinkin' coward you are."

Jigger raised his hands up level with his shoulders. He shook his head and his voice shook to match. "You can't make me draw. I'd be crazy to draw on you."

Johnny stood for a moment, poised and ready, and then he shook his head. He hadn't thought the son of a bitch would draw. He didn't have the guts to face a man head on. "You're a disappointment, Jigger. But I'm a patient man. So you go ahead and run." He grinned. "But I'll be along. Sooner or later, I'll be along."

Jigger just stood, sweat running down his face and making dark ugly splotches under his arms.

Johnny started to turn away but stopped and gave one more push. "Oh, and Jigger, be real careful riding out there all by yourself. I sure wouldn't want anything to happen to you before we have our little dance."

Satisfied, Johnny turned and walked away. His stride was even and unhurried. But he could feel every nerve in his body singing with tension. All his senses were tuned to the man behind him. He had taken four steps when he heard it, the whisper of steel on leather. There was a shout but he was already spinning around, reaching for his gun, throwing himself to his left, firing as he fell. He hit the ground just a fraction before Jigger Smith.

Johnny took a deep breath and stood up.

Jigger Smith never would.

He kicked the unfired gun away and eyed the punchers on the boardwalk across the street.

"Never could stand a back shooter," one of them said. They turned and headed for the saloon.

Johnny stood, staring at the fallen man while he reloaded his gun. Although he tried, he couldn't find much satisfaction in the crumpled form at his feet, but there wasn't any regret either. He just felt empty, empty and very tired.

He was aware of a rising murmur of conversation, of people gathering and staring. He caught a look of fright on Mrs. Jennings' face but couldn't find the energy to care. But as he turned to walk away, his focus narrowed to just one person. Scott stood on the boardwalk. Staring at him. The empty feeling in his gut expanded and his steps faltered for a second and then he straightened his shoulders and walked on past, his eyes focused straight ahead. After a long beat he heard Scott's footsteps echoing on the boardwalk, following him down the street.

They stopped and faced one another outside the sheriff's office. "You got something to say?" Johnny asked.

"Yes. I'm disappointed."

Johnny stomped down on the feeling that threatened to rise in his chest and grabbed onto anger instead. "Well you'd better decide whether you can live with it then, because I swear, I'd do it again."

"You didn't let me finish," Scott said. "I told that bastard yesterday I'd kill him the next time I saw him pointing a gun at your back. You beat me to it. I'm disappointed."

Johnny rocked back slightly and then he dropped his head and turned away. Finally he looked up and stared off into the distance.

"Scott," he said, "let's go home."

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EPILOGUE

Scott stretched out his legs and watched the fire flicker on the hearth. This was the first evening they had all gathered in the great room since they'd returned from Green River. The last nine days had been hard on everyone, and the ripples from that trip to town were still surging through the family.

They'd buried Naldo under an old oak that looked downhill to a murmuring stream. Johnny had chosen the place, saying that Naldo wouldn't be comfortable with all the fancy folks in the ranch cemetery.

Rowena had returned to San Francisco. She had a standing invitation to return whenever she wanted. Scott also had an invitation; good for any time he could break free to visit San Francisco.

Before she left, the two of them had taken a few long, leisurely rides. They'd explored some of Lancer's more secluded locations. Scott smiled. There were several spots that he'd never look at quite the same way again.

Teresa seemed untouched by her adventure. She had received a letter from Rowena and was busy telling them all the news from the city. Scott nodded whenever she paused for breath. He'd received his own letter, but he had no intention of sharing its contents with anyone.

Murdoch was reading the latest paper and listening absently as Teresa nattered on. Occasionally his gaze would rest on Johnny and a worried frown would wrinkle his forehead. Scott knew that he and Johnny had talked, but not what had been said. He did know that when he'd told Murdoch what had happened; his father had gone white as a ghost.

Johnny sat on a rug by the hearth, one arm resting on a drawn up knee, his eyes focused on the leaping flames. He still didn't look good. Sometime during that long night in town, he'd managed to tear out some of Sam's stitches and his fever had flared up again. It was gone now but it left him thin and worn. However, to Scott's mind, that wasn't the worst of it. A lot of the fire seemed to have gone out of his brother and Scott missed it. As he watched, Johnny gathered himself and rose to his feet. He carried his empty glass over to the sideboard. But instead of refilling it, he picked up the bottle and slipped out the French doors.

Teresa stopped talking and Scott sighed. His eyes met Murdoch's across the room before he picked up his glass and followed his brother into the night.

Johnny was leaning against a pillar, the bottle resting on the patio wall. The moonlight washed silver highlights across his face and hair. He lifted his head but never turned around. "Come out to soak up the night, Scott?"

Scott didn't answer; he didn't think an answer was expected.

Johnny took another drink and pointed with his glass. "Just look at that sky. All those stars, every one of 'em just sparkling to beat the band, all of them together doing their best to outshine the moon. It's almost bright as day, but a whole lot prettier." His voice turned harsh. "I'll let you in on a secret, brother, it's prettier because you can't see all the ugliness in the moonlight." He stopped for a moment and took another deep pull on his drink. "And the stars aren't all of it," he continued. He gestured again with the glass. "Just listen to the music. Must be every cricket and little bitty tree frog in the valley singing tonight. And you can hear the wind way up there, whispering in the treetops." His voice had gotten softer and infinitely sad. "It's an shame for anybody to miss a night like this." He tossed back his drink and poured another. "It's something, isn't it?"

Scott took a step nearer. "Yes, it is."

They stood and listened while the Lancer night chorus filled the air.

"Are you all right, Johnny?"

Johnny snorted. "Don't you ever get tired of asking that question?'

"No, although I would be happier if I didn't feel the need to ask it so often. None of this was your fault, you know."

"How do you figure that? I'm the one that left him when he was a kid. I'm the one that brought him back here and talked him into staying." His voice faded away and came back as a whisper. "I'm the one that pulled the trigger."

"And he's the one who forced you into it." Scott hesitated. "I'm sorry, Johnny. Sorry that you had to choose. Sorry that I didn't. . ."

"Stop it, Scott. Just stop it. I. . ."

Scott watched as Johnny's hand tightened on the glass until he was sure it would shatter. But Johnny dropped his head and released the glass.

"He almost took you with him, Scott. If I'd waited a second more - if that had happened. . .

Scott stepped forward and laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. He felt him shudder in response. "But it didn't happen."

Johnny shook his head and moved away, deeper into the shadows.

"Damn it, Johnny." Scott was suddenly angry. "You did your best for him and look at what he left you with. You didn't fail him, it was the other way around."

The only response was the sound of an indrawn breath.

"And Johnny, you didn't fail me."

Scott saw the reflection of moonlight on Johnny's eyes as he turned his head.

"You didn't know him, Scott. He always tried but he was never quite as good as he needed to be. He was always coming up just a little bit short." Johnny stared off into the night. "There was a time when Naldo was the closest thing I had to family in this world. He was the only one who would have noticed or cared if one of the stupid stunts I used to pull had gotten me killed." Johnny shook his head. "Hell, for a few years it was just him and me against the world. And we were just ten or twelve at the time."

He poured another shot. "But that wasn't all of it, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I said he wasn't strong enough. But neither was I. Not until he came along. He gave me a reason to go on fighting when it would have been easier to just give up. He needed me." Johnny sighed. "There's something about being needed that makes you stronger than you think you are. Something that makes it easier to keep putting one foot in front of the other when everything in you just wants to lay down and stop. He taught me how to keep going. Taught me that I could keep going, no matter what."

"So I have him to blame for that famous, 'I can make it' attitude?"

Johnny laughed but the tone of it was bitter. "Yeah," he said.

Scott took a step closer. "We're the ones who need you now, brother. We need you now."

Johnny's shoulders tightened and his head went down. "That might not be such a good idea. Relying on me doesn't seem to be a real safe bet."

"It's one I'm willing to make."

Johnny just looked off into the night.

"Come on, Johnny, you know better than I do that things don't always work out. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, things just don't come out right."

Johnny sighed and shook his head. "You just summed up the story of his life, Scott." He ran his hand over his face. "For as long as I've known him, no matter what he did, nothing ever worked out right for Naldo. I guess I should have tried harder. Maybe stuck around longer."

"Stop it. He had the same choices that you had. You're not responsible for what he did with them."

"No? You know what the Indians say, when you save someone's life, you become responsible for them. I didn't do a very good job for Naldo, did I?"

Scott was silent for a minute, deep in thought.

When he spoke his voice was very quiet. "You did what you could for him. You loved him, Johnny. And sometimes that's all you can do."

Scott stood for a moment watching the shadow that was his brother. There was no response. Finally he sighed. "Don't stay out here in the dark too long," he said. "We all miss you inside." He moved back toward the French doors.

"Scott." That soft voice reached out from the darkness. "Thanks. And don't worry. OK? I may not be all right now - but I will be."

The End


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